Epiphany
by Achicagoil
Summary: Pansy Parkinson is a little less than perfect. However, when she finds a book by one Morganna Le Faye, things begin to change in her personality. What's causing the change? And how much of Pansy will be left? Final chapter, from this loser lurker
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:

While you might like what you see

This cleaned out girl's no place to be

'Cause while I write out from my head

(I duly hope you rightly led)

The characters I use through loan

Not one of them is my true own

Henceforth the rhyme where I bemoan.

-Achicagoil

Epiphany

Rated: PG-13, or your site's equivalent of

By: Achicagoil

Part One: Finding a New You

Section One

Pansy Parkinson glared out the window with strong distaste to the passing scenery. This would be her seventh trip to that hell-filled castle for another year in which she would be subjected to That-Place-Where-Learning-Is-Mandatory. This time, Father had stooped to the level of threats for her grades this year, hoping for only the best from his only daughter. Or at most, mediocre, if she was willing to get her head of hair gel long enough for a portion of her studies. "You either make at least four N.E.W.Ts or I'll see to it that you are betrothed to Vincent Crabbe before this time next year. His father's been soliciting about you lately. The two of you would have deliciously thick offspring together. Infantile monkeys with your hair, his forehead, and a brain from the collective rubbish of the parents' own." Father had a luscious way with words that only caused headaches in her delicately made-up head.

In turn, Mother had also been adamant about her future. "What would the Malfoys think if you only managed two N.E.W.Ts, like the eldest Bullstrode girl?" Kamalia Parkinson had questioned from in front of her mirror that morning. "Nothing at all good could quite come from that. You do mean to couple with the Malfoy boy, don't you?" Pansy had been horrified to hear her mother giggle during the application of lipstick. "Those Malfoys know how to make their men. Strong, handsome, and well financed. I just hope young Draco takes after his father more than that Narcissa. The Blacks have insanity in their family, you know. Look at Bellatrix. She ended up with a Lestrange. And the eldest sister copulated with a mudblood. Absolute waste of a family tree, that one."

Pansy had left her mother to vent. It was the only way of keeping the woman happy. But to think. Marrying a muggleborn. You wouldn't find her stooping so low as to end up with the rejects of wizarding society, if you could even call mudbloods that. _Wizarding_. More like hyped-up muggles if you asked her.

Her concentration was broken by the sound of her compartment door sliding open and she turned to the three figures standing in the doorway. Pansy's heart leapt into her throat as she fixed Draco Malfoy with her most sultry smile. He too seemed shocked to find her there and stepped back, trying to decide whether or not to close the door before she realized he was about. Too late. That smile was fixed at him and he wished to ooze into the carpet before she fixed him more of her attention. Or, worse yet, her voice.

"Why, hello, Draco. What brings you around these parts?" she questioned, twirling her hair around a finger and crossing her legs. He pointedly winced as her skirt hiked up her leg even further.

"You see, Pansy, there's this place. It's called 'school', you might have heard about it before. It's also referred to as 'Hogwarts' and 'hell'. I'm required to go there nine months out of my year, just like you. However, unlike you, I'm required to pull at least six N.E.W.Ts or suffer disinheritance. My father made that very clear to be before leaving out manor. Doesn't want me slandering the Malfoy family name." He gave her a pointed look that went straight through the empty recess of her mind to bounce back. Both Crabbe and Goyle snickered, having understood the pointed 'slandering' comment he had made. She merely grinned even more.

"Indeed. But surely there are benefits to this 'school' place you mention. Like the people who are also required to attend it with you? Maybe certain female housemates, perhaps?" She stood slowly, thrusting out her chest as she continued to twirl the curl around her finger.

He took an involuntary step away from her, hoping to place more room between the Self-Proclaimed School Wench and his breathing space. "If you mean Millicent, she doesn't seem all to interested in me. I think she somewhat fancies Potter's girlfriend, that blood-traitor Weaslette. I wouldn't wish to be her." Draco looked around frantically. "Oh, Blaize is in the compartment several down. I will see you at school, then, Pansy." He nodded at her and hasted off down the hallway of the train, the not-so-casual glance over his shoulder to make sure Crabbe and Goyle were following, and more importantly, that she wasn't.

Pansy huffily sat back down in her chair and sulked. What a way to start the new school year.

The following weekend found Pansy wondering to a new part of the castle she had never before visited, having been chased out of the Slytherin commons by an angry Blaize and a frustrated Draco. She was surprised to find herself in front of the large, oak doors that led to the library.

Never before had she seen such a large amount of books and so many Ravenclaws in one place. She meandered over to the closest rack to read the titles of some of the literature offered. _A History of Animagi_. _A Brief History of Time. Former Headboys and Girls and Where They Are Now. Popular Goblin Revolts of the Medieval and Renaissance Ages. _The history section; Pansy didn't know whether to be amused by the irony ("A paper on a pre-18th century goblin lord of choice, twelve inches, by Monday" for Professor Binns. Pansy knew she would end up copying tits and tats from a blackmailed Hufflepuff) or disgusted by her ill luck in finding one of the most boring sections of the library.

Turning to leave, a tattered book on the nearest study table caught her attention. To say the book was well past its prime was a friendly way of putting things. The cover had been bent, torn, twisted, and rained upon to its last limits. Pansy could only just make out the engraved lettering on the leathery front, the gold lettering long since peeled and flaked off. _Epiphany_. The subtitle read 'A Way to Better Thyself and Thy Role in Life Without A Blood Sacrifice'. Pansy skeptically flipped through the weather-beaten pages, looking for something catchy to call to her attention. The table of contents listed chapter titles that Pansy would have expected from a self-help book out of her mother's personal library, not one found in Hogwarts. "'Finding a New Self: Coming to Terms and Doing Away With Thy Imperfections.' 'Making Choices: For Thyself, By Thyself.' 'Staying to Thy Terms: Others Are Thy Paved Walkway, Not Vice Versa.' What kind of self-help rubbish is this?" she asked herself as she threw the book back down.

"Oh, are you not taking it then?" a voice asked. Pansy looked up to see the ever-bushy head of the new Head Girl gazing inquiringly at her. "I had hoped to find a copy of that here. Morganna Le Faye's books are hard to come by, and that one in particular is a difficult catch." Hermione Granger reached down to take possession of the book but Pansy was quicker.

"Actually," Pansy spat, snatching the book from Hermione's open hand, "I was just about to check the book out for a bit of light reading. It's difficult to fall asleep, what with the racket Draco's cronies pass amongst walls. They snore like trolls. This is just what I need to help me sleep. Another's view on perfection might aid my problem."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "But you would know all about perfection wouldn't you, Parkinson. You just threw the book down, you weren't even going to take it until I showed obvious interest in the material," she retorted.

"Indeed, did I?" Pansy turned to walk away. "I just wanted a better look at the cover. I'll be going now. All this conversation with a Gryffindor has left a terrible feel in my gut. I feel nausea coming on."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, also turning away. "Right. If I'm lucky, that book will actually deem you a worthy victim of its spell. Stupid bint."

_A letter from Pansy Parkinson to her mother:_

Pansy Parkinson, to:

Mother, Lady of the House 

The main Parkinson Manor

Somewhere, Scotland

Mumsy Darling

School is okay I guess. The train ride was long and I didn't feel like looking for Draco so I just sort of sat in my compartment I guess.

Why do you and daddy make me go to this place when you no I enjoy home much better. The Hogwarts house elfes don't let me pick on them as much as Hattie does. When I try to kick them into working if I can find them their alowed to use magic on me to protekt them before running away again.

Millicent says I shouldn't kick the house elfes anyway its bad for my posture, so I made her nose hair grow and she got stuck to that stupid Weasley idiot and had to go to the hospital wing to become untangled. I told Professor Snape that my wand backfired and I had truley meant to warn her that Weasley was about to ruin her potion and got in her way so Snape took away fifty house points and gave both Weasley and Potter detention for interfering with anothers potion. Ha.

Next time you visit Diagon Alley could you pick me up some more rose scented lotion because some of mine spilled in my trunk and the rest of it I used to ruin Weasley's potion I sliped it in when he wasn't looking.

Has daddy talked to Master Malfoy latly? Draco seems to be avoiding me and I wanted to know if he new why.

I love you!

Pansy

A letter from Draco Malfoy to his father 

Draco Malfoy, to:

Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the Manor

The Rosewood Manor

Destination Unplotable

Father,

If that abomination to the female kind interrupts my conversations, my study, my personal living space ONE more time, I will see to it that the mop she refers to as 'her hair' will hang limp from her head for the rest of her pathetic existence. In fact, I might pull the same trick she did to Bullstrode and strangle her with her own nose hair. And push comes to shove, I will have Goyle sit on top of her 'by accident' and she will be suffocated.

It seems accidental enough, correct? They couldn't possibly blame me for such a death.

Also, could you have mother send more sugarquills? Said Abomination to the Female Kind has managed to 'confiscate' the ones I received before term and insists on sucking them suggestively while I'm trying to concentrate during Transfigurations.

Send my regards to the Higher Ups

You son

A letter from Lucius Malfoy to Jasper Parkinson 

Lucius Malfoy, to:

Jasper Parkinson

Parkinson Manor

Scotland

Subject: Your daughter

My son informs me that your daughter insists on stealing his property and using it as a means of bad foreplay from across a busy classroom.

I am aware that she is across the country from your watchful gaze and even tighter chastity belt (figuratively speaking, although it may be a good idea), but do try to keep a hold onto your daughter. You wouldn't want her to make a bad reputation for your family name, now would you?

Sincerely,

Lucius Malfoy

_A letter from Kamalia Parkinson to her daughter_

Mother, to:

Pansy dear

Hogwarts Castle

Outside of Hogsmeade

Pansy darling,

I am ever so happy to hear your school year is starting decently!

Take care not to upset Veronica's daughter too much! We're quite the close friends! In fact, we had tea together just last week and she was just saying how Millie looks up to you for your intelligence and good looks!

Your father seems to have received a letter from the Malfoys and wishes me to inform you that the Malfoy boy seems to need time to figure out the kinks in your relationship! Perhaps you ought to settle down and daydream from a corner while the young boy undergoes a bit of rough thinking as how to progress your relationship!

And do stop stealing his sugarquills. Men are such children when it comes to their candy!

I love you with all my heart!

-Mother

More to come later?


	2. Chapter 1 Section 2: Creating the Effect

Disclaimer:

Should you find yourselves in doubt

Be glad to know that I'm about.

There's nothing out there any lamer

Than this rhyming set disclaimer.

No, I don't own Harry's world

And now it's time the fic's unfurled

How's that for being a loser? One of my reviewers mentioned wanting to know how my story is going to change with HBP out. My chicken-like reply follows this: I'm going to avoid HBP spoilers. I have had this story planned since before HBP. And Microsoft word screws over my italics, so please, quietly deal with me?

-Achicagoil

Epiphany

By: Achicagoil

Part One, Section Two: Creating the Effect

Whether it be a cruel trick of fate or the several cappuccinos she had drunk to "calm her nerves before bed," Pansy found herself unable to sleep that evening, mind wandering to every which corner and recess that had not crammed with useless information over the years. And it settled on the book she had bested from Granger with her Slytherin 'wit' and 'charm'. Mother told her it ran in the family, and Father had been quick to reassure her that Pansy's Slytherin qualities must have been inherited from her mother.

Rolling to her side so she could reach to the floor without leaving the shimmery-green sheets ("Imported from Italy. A back to school present from my parents," she had bragged earlier in the commons. And the great hall. And loudly during classes, should the Gryffindors care to know as well), Pansy reached down for her bag and fumbled around before obtaining the desired material. The leathery material of the covers rose and fell, casting ominous pockets of shadows around the title.

Settling back and not caring for the sleeping sake of the other girls in her dorm, Pansy mumbled a feeble "Lumos!" and hovered her wand over the beaten cover of the self-help book. Once again, shadows were cast over the book's pages, dancing figures twirling around the slightly lit recess of the room.

_Finding thyself forgotten, confused, and in the presence of males fleeing the other direction?_ Pansy furrowed her brow in concentration. The book could not be further from the truth. _Is denial one of thy best friends, coming up with meager excuses for the things thy mind dost not deem process?_ Something rung a bell there and the snob in her brain silently muffled it down with a few pillows. _Dost thy thoughts attempt to muffle the thinking in thy brain, dam the trickle of self-knowledge for the influx of stupidity, and there forth induce handicap parking for the 'More Well-Endowed Perfection That Is Thyself'? _That was odd. How did the book know that much? For Parkinsons did not walk long distances. 'Handicap' was a means of parking for those willing to take advantage of it. _Perhaps this book ought help refine, than rather assist._ Ahh, yes. Refinement was always appreciated when offered; Pansy could be perfect, yet refinement always made room for more perfection, as her mother insisted. _Then possibly we might be able to help. Introducing chapter one of the text: Finding a New You._

Fatigue hit Pansy's mind like a large hippogriff carrying a ton of bricks. Not even bothering to close the book (and ignoring the light glow the book itself was now emitting), Pansy's eyes drooped shut upon themselves and her brain shut down. Sleep was good. Sleep could refresh, even "make a new you." And sleep brought change.

Sunday morning conveyed a new sense of refreshment and knowledge to Pansy's mind as she exited her bed two hours earlier than usual. Musing over her wardrobe, she thought one of the most uncharacteristic thoughts that had ever crossed her mind. "Are all my skirts this short?" she questioned, pulling out one and holding it up against her legs. "And what's that charm to lengthen them again?"

The next uncharacteristic thought came as she was buttoning up her blouse. "Has it ever occurred to me that such a small top might, instead of flattering, turn out to be revealing for small, ungainly amounts of fat that all teenagers accumulate while growing?"

And one of the final ones came as she looked into the mirror. "Wearing as much make-up as I usually do makes me look like I'm wearing a mask. What's the point, when I have to take it off at the end of the day anyway?" For the first time since she was ten, Pansy settled for merely tying back her hair in a ribbon and taking off for breakfast, grabbing her school bags before leaving the room.

Heading out of the portrait hole, Pansy came across a slightly unsettled Draco Malfoy trying to hide behind a tapestry just on the outside. Rolling her eyes, Pansy shuffled to the cloth and picked up the side to confront him. "Hide and Go Seek this shoddy will only work on Crabbe and Goyle. You couldn't fool a Gryffindor hell-bent on justice right now. Might I suggest behind a couch next time, Malfoy?" she questioned, turning around smartly and heading in the direction of the great hall. With her back turned to him, Pansy missed the confused furrowing of his eyebrows as he muttered, "'Malfoy'? Since when have I been a 'Malfoy' to her?"

Breakfast was not an affair Pansy frequented with her time off. On most weekends, noontime would find Pansy casting sloppy silencing charms on her dorm mates as she attempted to remain dream-ridden for an extra hour or so. Missed meals were often taken in the kitchens, behind the portrait of the fruit bowl and the giggling pear. At least then, the still groggy Pansy would find herself with house elves to bully around, even if they would not allow her to place a sharp kick in the-

She seated herself at the long Slytherin table and helped herself to a bowl of porridge, finding the nutty and fruity breakfast appealing for a change; oftentimes, Pansy would refuse to eat anything that once had roots and were, at the same time, charged by the pound. Parkinsons ate by the charged amount, instead of weight. However, the changes of the morning allowed her to merrily finish off the amount in her bowl and she stood to stretch and then head off to the library. The essay due for Binns class the next school day, while disagreeable to her mind the previous day, now called like a siren and her fingers itched to get to work.

On her way to the library (now permanently etched into her mind), Pansy's thoughts drifted into her bag, where the book from the library lay, nestled between spare parchment and the latest Glamour, the witching magazine for young women. She was surprised that what the book had told her lasted longer than the fashion tips from the dog-eared pages and only paid half attention to where she was going when a red-topped form slammed into her. Pansy's view of the stone floor was magnificent, but both of her hands smarted from catching herself and her bag had spilled out its contents.

"Err… sorry," an awkward voice told her as footsteps quickly receded from her form. She furrowed her brows and glared at the retreating forms of two-thirds of the dream trio. Apparently, the infamous Harry Potter and his ever-loyal sidekick Ron Weasley didn't have the time or patience to deal with those they wronged. She would remember it for future references. Perhaps Morganna Le Faye's section on revenge would play useful.

"Did… they plow you over?" a familiar, timid voice asked. Pansy rolled her eyes and turned to face the bushy head of Hermione Granger.

"No, not really. I enjoy spreading myself across the ground in such a manner. It gets interesting during passing time for classes. You see, I write down the names of all those who trample on me and eventually slip poison in their pumpkin juice. Then I laugh amongst my other foul-doing Slytherins as we sip well-aged wine and plan evil plans for world domination."

Hermione gave her a squinty-eyed look, trying to decide whether or not Pansy was being demeaning or teasing. Pansy smirked and let out a bark of laughter, which normally would have forced her to recoil in fear of having performed an "ugly" action. "Forget that, Granger. I was joking and I suppose I shouldn't expect you to understand sarcasm coming from a Slytherin." Gathering her supplies and stuffing them back into her bag, Pansy heaved herself onto two feet again and saluted the Head Girl as she walked away. "Heed no worry about me, although I appreciate whatever concern you might have had over my body. You might want to warn your boys about the concept called 'revenge' and what it entails from a Slytherin. I'm mighty peeved about being snuffed like that."

"Did… did you start reading that book you got from the library?" Hermione asked, her puzzled look turning into one of studious concentration. Pansy raised her eyebrows as she headed towards the library.

"What would make you think that?" she wanted to know, turning the corner to leave Granger more mystified than she had found her.

"Because it would make a lot of sense as to where your shoddy personality disappeared to and the decent human being it left behind…" Hermione muttered to herself, heading the direction Pansy had come from.

From behind a statue of Nimue, Draco's brow furrowed in deep concentration. It had been years since he had heard Pansy speak to a person in a manner that didn't remind him of a preschooler. It was even longer since Pansy had been civil to a person her age (or younger) (or older), let alone somebody beneath her pureblood status. And there wasn't a time that he could recall when Pansy didn't call him "Drakey-poo" or "Drakey-love" or something of equivalent disgust. He silently disappeared the way Granger had gone, hoping to write a letter to his father about her odd antics; maybe Lucius could explain things…

_A letter from Draco Malfoy to his father_

Draco Malfoy, to:

Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the Manor

Rosewood Manor, in hiding

Destination Unplottable

Father,

Would you know of any reason for Pansy Parkinson's recent behavior? I should be thanking my lucky stars that she no longer latches herself on to my arm, but I'm also concerned that she no longer wishes to even be associated with the Malfoy name. Perhaps the warning you sent her father got too strong of a reaction? I mean, she hasn't called me by our surname since ever. It's been "Drakey"- 'something-endearing' for as long as I can remember. Or as long as she's been able to latch herself onto my arm. Take your pick?

Perhaps I am overreacting. I will let you know if something comes up or changes more drastically.

Send Mother my thanks for the sugarquills. Really, do.

Your son

_A letter from Pansy Parkinson to her parents_

Pansy Parkinson, to:

Mother and Father

Parkinson Manor

Scotland

I already sense it coming. I saw Malfoy head off to the owlry earlier and knew, just KNEW, the little snot was sending his problems to Daddy to deal with.

If Lucius gets on your case for "punishing Pansy too severely" over "attaching herself to Draco," I would like you to diplomatically inform him to let his own son deal with his own battles. If Draco wants to play twenty questions as to my personality change, he may ask me himself. Not ask his father to ask my father to ask my mother to send me an owl asking me if the house elves are poisoning my food. In which, no, they aren't, Mother.

Excuse my out-of-characterness in this letter, though. I found an interesting read on self-refining in the library and it's been assisting me in making several fine-tuned adjustments in my life. And I do loathe it when people are unable to handle their own problems. I send my love to the both of you and if Mother would let Lady Bulstrode know that I am not behind the recent transfiguration of her daughter's cat into a poisonous pillow. That was a couple of sixth years seeking revenge… apparently, Millicent decided the commons fire wasn't hot enough and that their potions essays would be a wonderful way to restart the dying embers.

Do something evil to the house elves in lieu of me!

Your ever-humble daughter,

Pansy

_A letter from Hermione Granger to Harry Potter_

Hermione Granger, to: The Boy Who Still Hasn't Died

Copy To: His redheaded friend

Topic: Pansy Parkinson

The Gryffindor Announcement Board

The Gryffindor Commons

-I couldn't find the two of you before lessons so I hope this will find you instead.

You royally ticked off Parkinson when you ran into her and she's acting… peculiar. Different. Changed, to say the least. I think I might know why, and I'm working out the odds of my hypothesis being accurate, but in the meantime, might I suggest the two of you watching your backs? She'll be looking for revenge and I have a feeling she's a tad bit… smarter than usual.

I half hope that she does get revenge on you lot. You plowed her down and ran off in the direction with barely an apology. Remind me why I spend my waking moments with you two?

-H

_A reply from Ginny Weasley to Hermione Grange_r

Ginny Weasley, to: Hermione Granger

Topic: RE: Pansy Parkinson

The Gryffindor Announcement Board, posted under Hermione's note

QUOTE: _Remind me why I spend my waking moments with you two?_

-I would like to know as well. My only answer would be that their stupidity only heightens the effect of your intelligence.

_A reply from Harry Potter to Hermione Granger_

Harry Potter, to: Hermione Granger

Topic: RE: Pansy Parkinson

The Gryffindor Announcement Board, scribbled under Ginny's comments

-Ron and I will watch our backs. This is _Pansy Parkinson_, Hermione. Why are you so worried?

_A reply from Harry Potter to Ginny Weasley_

Sir Harry Potter, to: Lady Genevra Weasley

Topic: RE: RE: Pansy Parkinson

The Gryffindor Announcement Board, under his comments to her comments to the original comment

-Do you care to repeat this to my face, dear lady, or shall I be forced to show you my worthiness in a more personal setting?

_A reply from Ginny Weasley to Harry Potter_

Lady Genevra Weasley to: Sir Harry Potter

Topic: RE of the RE to the RE power

The Gryffindor Announcement Board, under all the comments to the comments

-Your place or mine?

_A reply from Ron Weasley to Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley_

Ron Weasley to: my best mate and my SISTER

Topic: RE: Pansy Parkinson

The Gryffindor Announcement Board, in thick black marker over the previous replies

-Just because I approve and agree to put up with your relationship does NOT mean I want the details of the In-Closed-Rooms plastered over the entire Gryffindor commons. Harry, mate, if you touch her inappropriately and I find out, there will be hell to pay. Ginny, if you touch him inappropriately and I find out, I'm telling Mum. I do hope this is understood and the topic is getting dropped now. There will be no touching of anybody by anybody else, not while I'm around to stop it.

_A note from Ginny Weasley to Hermione Granger_

Ginny, to: Hermione

Hogwarts

The Library

-Well? Isn't he being rather hypocritical? Can't you talk to him or something? I mean, it's not like I haven't noticed that glamour on -your- neck.

_A note from Ron Weasley to Harry Potter _

Ron, to: Harry

Hogwarts

The chair next to me in Charms

-Fine. Do what you want. If you impregnate her, Dad will kill you. The twins will kill you. Bill and Charlie will kill you. Mum will make you get married. And Percy might show up to play minister at the funeral… or wedding… or whatever. I don't care if she has hickeys that look as if you burned a crater out of neck. "Ginny is perfectly capable of taking care of herself and causes more damage to you anyway," right? Remind me the next time I interfere with your relationship that Hermione is not to be double-crossed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You might notice that the letters are longer than the actual story… But they're the parts I have the most fun with. Feel free to review, with an extra cookie to the handful of you who already have. It's nice to open up my inbox and see email from the various places telling me there's a review. Next chapter will hopefully be up… er… eventually. Before school, which is less than two weeks away for me… Senior year, w00t. Also, I set a warning for the time it will take for the next chapter to come out: I seem to have a rather lousy case of carpal tunnel in my right wrist from hand-sewing my Hogwart's robe's seams in… It's slightly more than painful, and it might be a drawback….


	3. Chapter 2: Revenge, and Synonyms Thereof

Now it's come! It's really neat

A fic so long is a great feat

At least for me (so all you know

By chapter two I usually go…)

But here I am, the fic on loan

There are no claims to this my own

My rhyming is getting continuously worse, but feel free to stick around… I'm experimenting with several ways to make the writing interesting (the letters, I have noticed, are a great deal of joy to the reviewers), so I will adapt around, scootch things about. Eventually (I **almost** promise), I will have a character assessment for Draco in regards of Pansy… Also, In Regards To Blaise Zabini: Yes, I know book six said he was of a different description than the one I have in here. It's called Author Leniency, so I'm following the wonder Ms. Inell's description of Master Zabini; Italian it is!

-Achi

Epiphany

By: Achicagoil

Rated: PG-13 or whatnot

Chapter Two: Revenge, and Synonyms Thereof

_Revenge. To some, such as the strong-willed and close to heart, revenge is merely a toy, a false means of correcting another's behavior to make thyself feel corrected. However, in the right hands, revenge becomes an art of deception, sneakiness, and looking innocent to all others around. The key is to retribution is to stay simple and to get others to perform any dirty work. Plotting and planning is all good and fun, but when it comes to acting out, it is better to remain free from the area. Let others take the blame, should they be discovered, which leads to the other aspect of picking somebody incognito to do the work for thyself. A fox in the chicken coop is easily discovered, but the wolf in sheep's clothing gets away with its dinner._

_The first step to creating your plan is assessing the character of those who have wronged. Watch them from a distance, attempt to act normal, and learn about their personalities. It does no good to leave a snake in the bed only to learn it will become a beloved pet in the future. Another assessment is to figure out how truly wronged thou art. A doorway to returned revenge opens when thy own over-does it; A Gryffindor will understand something squishy left between the sheets for knocking you over, but a near death experience due to thy planning will awake the Slytherin in them as well._

_Remember. Keep it simple, keep it innocent, and keep it normal. Perceptive people will notice if thy personality starts to act differently and will begin asking questions._

If Pansy's personality changes baffled any besides Draco, they quickly learned to keep mouths shut, eyes averted, and to meekly nod heads in agreement; along with her tolerance to those around her came an almost supernatural wand reaction and a promised hex to any who vexed her. Those who reacted the most to her newfound studious intellect were the ones whom she itched to cast a silencing charm upon but could not: her professors.

Professor Binns did not care that her writing style had improved, her research skills developed, and that her handwriting appeared the same, but more legible and smaller than usual. No longer was Pansy taking half a foot of parchment to write an opening paragraph to an essay. However, McGryffindor (the ungainly name developed for the harsh transfigurations professor by the Slytherins), Sprout, Vector, Flitwick, and Snape had noticed the change with skeptical eyes and raised eyebrows. Some more than others; Pansy was not sure which she disliked more, the set-aside, after class discussions on "cheating-is-bad-if-you-get-caught-I-will-fail-you" or the pursed lips and eye-to-eye contact when handing back an essay covered in red grading marks.

Currently, Professor Snape hovered over her as she attempted to Slice-'N-Smash her manticore vertebrae. She looked up, mentally screaming at him for casting her work area in shadow. "Is there a problem, Professor?" Pansy asked, mentally adding, 'besides your frantic hovering of a Mother Hen, knowing her child has done wrong?' He narrowed his eyes even more. 'Right. Up with the reading of my thoughts. That's subtle.'

He handed back an essay she had completed the Friday after first acquiring the self-help book from the library, a tedious piece about the distinguishing differences between a wolf's hair and the hair of a werewolf during a full moon (the easiest ways being: A. Collecting the hair yourself, or B. Taking what you have and praying to your deities that the collector wasn't trying to pull off a fake). On it, in bright red letters, was an "80" and a "See me after class." Inside, Pansy seethed. She had worked wearisome hours on the essay though out the week, gaining suspicious glances from her fellow housemates; normally, when a Slytherin spent too many hours in the library, something deliciously nasty and no doubt newly-researched ended up happening to those who had wronged the annoyed castor. The second years were even replying to comments towards them with a "yes, ma'am," and it got aggravating.

Draco glanced at her essay through the corner of her eye, reading the introductory paragraph. He raised a blonde eyebrow, forgetting to mask his disinterest. Pansy's writing style had gone from spelling errors and tense-confusion to carefully crafted sentences and an advanced understanding of diction. Pansy had even used "exigent" in correct context. He turned to look at Snape, his mentor over the past six years and smirked. The Potions Master was gritting his teeth in masked aggravation, the look of a pained adult in reaction to a matter out of their hands. For years, Snape had quietly taken whatever his Slytherin students had thrown at him with little anger, and in turn, treated the other houses with the leashed frustration he had at his own. Clearly, he was trying to compose a way to get through Pansy's hairspray and into her brain to inform the girl of a Slytherin's sneaky tactics. Turning his attention away from the professor, Draco attempted to figure out where her line of vision led her.

Ah, yes. Weasley and Commander-In-Chief Potter. The two were quietly banging their heads together in a Gryffindor's attempt at making a decent potion, combining their minds to complete a full brain cell. Draco now furrowed his eyebrows, getting suspicious. Why would Pansy fix the two with her full concentration, such as she was now, potion fully completed and sitting in a bottle on her workspace. What might be so interesting as to her bold gazing at the two idiots in the corner? Wasn't she supposed to be fixing him with a look like that? As inconspicuously as possible, Draco nudged her with an elbow, acting as innocent as a Slytherin could.

"Mind your own business," Pansy hissed, her eyes never leaving Potter and Weasley. An animalistic smirk lit her face and she turned to Draco. "They have quite a thing coming to them, let me tell you."

The bell to announce lunch rang, relieving the room from the double-potions cession Dumbledore loved to schedule first thing in the morning. "What might that be?" Draco wanted to know, voice one of falsetto nonchalance as he picked up his belongings and shoved them in his bag.

Pansy flashed him her most glucose-filled smile, one that would make the Honeydukes founders jealous. "Me, of course. What else would I be offering them?" She turned quickly and headed for Snape's office, leaving a stunned Draco in her wake.

"I am highly disappointed with you, in retrospect to your Slytherin qualities," Snape informed her from his desk, hands and fingers steepled together and eyes on her in hopes of intimidation. "A Hufflepuff has more craftiness than that essay you turned in."

Pansy leaned against the doorframe. "There was nothing sneaky about that essay, Professor," she replied, voice even and false understanding only coming across as sarcastic. "The only sneaky thing I sense is this eighty percent when you know this is Hermione Granger quality."

"Exactly the reason I deducted twenty percent, Ms. Parkinson," Snape replied, just as evenly and with the same tone.

"Because I dared live up to the expectations set for the Head Girl? Is this some of your Gryffindor hate coming across to the more intelligent of the class?" she wanted to know, ready to debate.

"No. Because, while this is Ms. Granger quality, it is not Ms. Parkinson quality. 'While the effects of either specimen of fur have diminutive to no differences by sight, the effects of an erroneous hair placed in a potion may be fatal, as seen in 1763 when Gaillardia the Golden mistook the hair of a lycanthropic _homo sapiens_ during a full moon for that of North America's common gray wolf. The Ministry of Magic used this paradigm as a means for stringent enforcement of the Potions Market Act (1254) and Gaillardia the Golden's remains may be found, preserved in a jelly jar, at the St. Mungos ward for severe potions accidents as a reminder for constant vigilance,'" Snape recited from memory, a portion of her fifth paragraph. "Pansy Parkinson material would have been, oh, 'Have somebody else make the potion for you so if they blow up, you know it's the wrong hair and may locate the correct thing.'"

Pansy nodded solemnly. "Yes. That would have been Pansy Parkinson material."

"Would have been? Or is?" Snape wanted to know.

Complete realization dawned upon Pansy and she let out a cold bark of laughter. "You think I copied this off of somebody and didn't even bother trying to hide it!" she cackled. "You didn't remove points for quality, you removed points because I didn't live up to the sneaky Slytherin expectations." Pansy crossed the room and bent to eyelevel with the professor. "Professor Snape," she stated, making direct eye contact with him. "I solemnly swear on an honorable person's honor that I wrote that essay myself, every single erased blotch and errant quill drippings my own. You may ask Madame Pince as to my whereabouts, although I doubt she would recognize me by name. I've become 'The Slytherin Girl' to her, the one who always ends up in the Restricted Section by 'accident' for some reason." Pansy placed a falsely innocent look on her face. "'Please, Ma'am, I'm new to this library thing. I usually have others assist me in the note-taking department. I didn't even realize this was the Restricted Section. I swear, next time, I'll have a pass.'"

Snape met her gaze equally. "I may consider giving some of those essay points back in lieu for your excellent lying skills, Ms. Parkinson. If you wrote this paper like you said you did, do tell me where the sudden change in personality came from? I'm curious, as the old Ms. Parkinson had poor grammatical understanding, even shoddier spelling, and extreme difficulty in picking a tense and sticking with it. That essay even had correctly sited footnotes, which you know I do not require from my students on homework essays."

"You don't require them from your Slytherin students on homework essays. I've heard the complaints from the slacker-portion of Dumbledore's Golden Trio of inequality. I'm sure the Lion-Huggers amongst the staff make up for it. Anywho, the essay was mine," Pansy corrected, becoming earnest in her argument. "I recently picked up a self-help book from the library that's helping me finesse my better points. And correct my not-so-better ones. Please tell me you've noticed a difference?" Her last sentence came across as more of a question to Snape. He arched an eyebrow. A self-help book sounded more logical than it didn't, but an over-night change in study habits still did not make sense.

"I have noticed that the Hufflepuffs no longer require censorship when in your presence," Snape admitted. Pansy beamed. "And I also noticed your keen attention to the two-third part of the Gryffindor trio. Why your attention is heading to that direction neither do I know nor do I care to know, but might I suggest a warning that both Ms. Weasley and Ms. Granger will not appreciate getting double-crossed? I would hate to have to collect your pieces to owl back to your parents in an envelope. Jasper has a bit of a temper."

Pansy now smirked to his questioning. "Ms. Weasley and Ms. Granger do not have to worry about getting double-crossed, Professor. You know I have higher standards than that." She ignored Snape's following cough that roughly sounded like "Draco". "However, I believe McGryffindor will be the one picking up pieces of people when I'm through. I have a bit of a grudge with He-Who-Still-Survives and His-Sidekick so I'm following a bit of advice lent to me from my self-help book. Before you give me a warning about the warnings I will get for committing evil deeds, I'll remain wonderfully anonymous. No worries for the Pansy Parkinson department, Professor. Now, if you excuse me, I have things to see, people to hex, and chicken pot pie to eat."

Snape watched her depart, shaking his head slowly. He'd need a headache potion before the day was through. He just knew it.

_The second step of revenge is to begin planning. Knowledge has been carefully crafted of the pitiful parties and the planning is what leads to the third and final step, which is acting it out (although, a cunning Planner never does the action unless absolutely necessary, the same way a politician never does the killing but his assassin does). Remember the most important rule: keep it simple. A simple plan works just as well at revenge as a difficult one, but a simple plan is more likely to run smoothly and not backfire in the face. Oftentimes, making a plan with backup options is also a good idea; should something go wrong (Murphy's Law never gives leeway), a backup to the same solution is handy, the exact way alternate routes are._

_Once planning is completed, the third stage comes. Action. Action on thy revenge can be more difficult than the other steps, only because this is the part that thy control no longer reigns over. Anything can happen once the action begins._

_The main goal for the third step is getting others to do thy dirty work. Blackmail, begging, and bribes work nicely. Always employ underlings, but never give somebody enough of the work that his or her little brain will be able to work off the details. Make it so that questioning never ends with one person. A nosey underling is one that does not have the entire mind on the given task._

_When action is carried out, it's better that thy acting skills are decent. If others are apt to gasp at the reaction, don't forget gasp as well; the wolf in sheep's clothing will be discovered if he forgets to cover the back of his neck as well. Act surprised, amused, confused, whatever the others around thyself are acting. Just don't be close enough to the scene that suspicious eyes are turned to thy head._

Breakfast on Halloween had been a decent affair. So had lunch. But as for Halloween dinner, Pansy felt there were more bats in her stomach than hanging from the Great Hall ceiling. She wasn't nervous, per say, but she was anxious. Weeks had been spent towards this single evening. Father had not been happy when Pansy had asked for an increase in her weekly allowance (bribes did not come cheap within Slytherin House, and Pansy didn't trust to go outside of it) until she had sent him a copy of her first hundred on a Transfigurations test. Pansy suspected her mother had acted upon the increase of galleons and the new Silence Stage her father was in, but she knew better than to question one of Fate's positive changes in life.

Gryffindor table sat at her back, Pansy facing the closest wall of the hall. Blaise, her readily-agreeing lookout slowly nodded at her, forgetting the spoonful of mashed potatoes he had halfway to his mouth. A smile leisurely curled upon his Italian features and his dark eyes met hers in pure, childish glee at a prank gone right. From across the hall, loud voices and an angry yell were all Pansy needed to know that her plan had gone as, well, planned.

Along with every other student and teacher in the hall, Pansy twisted uncomfortably and raised her chin for a better look at the far table. It wasn't needed, as both occupants her attention would be on had jumped up from their seats, each staring incredulously at the other. Along with the rest of Slytherin house, Pansy threw her head back in laughter, although her reasoning might have been different from the others' obvious glee at the humiliation.

Even several teachers were laughing. Snape met her eyes, self-satisfied smirk upon his face. Pansy's Cheshire grin was his only reply.

_Mission: Successful._

_A letter from Ginevra Weasley to Hermione Granger_

Ginny, to: Hermione

Topic: HA!

The Library

Hogwarts

That was absolutely excellent! Do you think she's the reasoning behind it? Because it might explain the looks from across the room she's been giving Harry and Ron. Don't think that I hadn't noticed them. I'll just say this: I'm ultimately jealous. It's not fair that my boyfriend has a bigger bra size than I do.

-G

_A letter from Hermione Granger to Ginevra Weasley_

Hermione, to: Ginny

RE: HA!

A bloody broomstick

The Quidditch Pitch

Serves them right; I'm almost absolutely sure it was she, though. The book does have a section on revenge and how to get it. I think it's more amusing to watch Malfoy glare at her when she talks to any member of the opposite sex, though. One moment, he can't get far enough away from her and he doesn't care who knows it. The next, he's practically licking her Mary Janes to keep her off of Zabini. Just as long as she stays away from Ron. It might be best not to inform the boys of our knowledge, though. Madame Pomfrey says that as soon as their monthlies disappear, they should slowly revert to normal. Not that I'm worried for her, or anything, but this whole process starts over again if they decide THEY want back at her.

Anyway. It's nice that we get blame their attitudes on "that time of month" for a change, not vice versa, am I right?

-Hermione

_A letter from Ginevra Weasley to Hermione Granger_

Ginny, to: Hermione

RE: RE: HA!

Lost in a book

Same place as usual

Can't we even congratulate her or anything? Just a little bit? I mean, it's not every day you get a new HERO, Hermione. Mom will be tickled Tickle-Me-Neon-Pink over this. Ron's forbidden me to write her, so I'm headed up the owlry later to mail her letter. Ronnikins is not going to be happy over this one.

On another note. You know what irony is?

Irony is Harry Bloody Potter never letting me use the cramps excuse out of Quidditch practice, but guess where he is right this moment. Perhaps I'll get more sympathy now. Or at least more chocolate.

-G

_A portion of a letter from Molly Weasley to her son_

Mother, to: Ron

Topic: Your sister

Gryffindor Commons

Hogwarts

Ginny told me about your unfortunate incident on Halloween, Ron, dear, and I can't help but feel slightly self-righteous about the entire deal. Raising so many boys and only one girl, poor Ginny hasn't got an entire lot of slack from you lot, especially around her monthlies. I believe you told her once to "Hang up and get over it," with those gut-wrenching cramps the Weasley-women are known for getting. I suppose "a taste of your own medicine" would be redundant, so I'll skip by it and suggest Honeydukes medical chocolate to help the work of the cramps and a minor heating charm with whatever's left over. No doubt your breasts will begin shrinking in time for the Gryff-Slyth game, but in case that they don't, I'd suggest heavy padding. Those oafs they have with the beaterbats will know exactly where to aim the bludgers and a chest is an easier target than between the legs. Especially when on a broom…

_A howler from Molly Weasley to her son_

YOUR MOTHER, TO: RONALD WEASLEY

Topic: YOUR LANGUAGE

Great Hall, breakfast

Hogwarts

YOU ARE TO WATCH WHAT LANGUAGE YOU LET LOSE AROUND THE PROFESSORS, YOUNG MAN! IF YOUR FATHER HAD GOTTEN THAT REPORT FROM PROFESSOR MCGONNAGAL INSTEAD OF ME, YOU WOULD HAVE GOTTEN MORE THAN THIS HOWLER. YOU DO NOT SPEAK TO YOUR SISTER IN THAT TONE, WITH THAT LANGUAGE, NO MATTER WHAT SHE DOES OR HOW YOU ARE FEELING. WEASLEY WOMEN HAVE DEALT WITH THE MENSTRUAL CYCLE FOR YEARS. SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND TAKE IT LIKE A MAN.

GINNY, SHOULD HE EVER TURN ON YOU LIKE THAT AGAIN, DON'T BE AFRAID TO SEND ME A LETTER. I'LL BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO DEAL WITH YOUR BROTHER IN A TIVVY.

LOVE, MOTHER

_A letter from Fred, then George, Weasley to their youngest brother_

Gred and Feorge, to: Ron Weasley

Gryffindor commons

Hogwarts

Excellent, little brother. We didn't know you had it in you, but George and I have been rolling in tears all afternoon. You've even inspired our newest product, another snackbox, although the details will be extremely familiar to what you're experiencing now. But I think George has wet himself. He's got a giant wet spot on the front of his trousers now.

-Have not

Have too!

-Only because you let lose one of those water tornadoes! I'm wet everywhere else now, too, stupid lummox

Ignore the man behind the curtain. In the meantime, keep up the good work. Eventually, we'll be proud enough of you to forget you were made a prefect and call you "Brother" again.

-Note he said "eventually." Being made 'prefect' calls for a longer than usual 'eventually,' you know. Send our love to Ginny and make a point to snicker at Harry for us, as well.

-George

And Fred

_A letter from Jasper Parkinson to his daughter_

Father, to: Pansy

Slytherin commons

Hogwarts

I am very proud of you, young lady.

-Father

------------------------

Yay! Longer than usual, eh? I was having fun writing letters from the Weasley family to Ron. Make a note that congratulation from Jasper is few and far between… Pansy's succeeding greatly, but how long will her happiness (and cluelessness) with the book last?

I thank all who reviewed… You guys have no idea how happy it is for me to see email from or whatever the hell it is from a happy reviewer. One person (I'm sorry I'm abysmal with names) commented that "sewing my Hogwarts robes" seemed extreme. I didn't exactly sew them from scratch. I took an old Scream costume and cut it up and hemmed what I mutilated with scissors (IE: The sleeves and the cut down the middle). I find weird projects like that; I have an "I support co-ed naked Quidditch" cross-stitch sign hanging in my room with Stickfigure!Harry the artist of Wizzards would be proud of.

I'll be back soon(?), depending on how fast I can read Heart of Darkness before school starts for me on the fourth. Senior year, yay!


	4. Chapter 3 Bending Things to Thy Will

To tell the truth, I don't know why

But every night, it's "Family Guy"

On our TV (I love that show!)

Attention span, oh here we go!

Back to topic, for all of y'all,

Because a lawsuit's no way to fall

JK Rowling's got all the claim,

Already on her road to fame.

And me? I have no fame as yet

Why else would I post on that, rhyming meter! Who needs you! Still haven't started _Heart of Darkness_, but oh well! On with the show! Oh, wait. Minor announcement. I'm dropping the "arts" and "thous" and "thys" and whatever from the Morganna passages. It's a pain the arse trying to format the writing based on what will fit with that context. Ug.

-The Artist **Still** Known as Achicagoil

Epiphany

Rated: PG-13 for good measure

Chapter Three: Bending Things to Thy Will

The weather, as viewed by the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling a dank Saturday morning in November, mirrored Pansy's mood as she sat down for her daily intake of 'Horse Grain,' as the other Slytherins had begun to teasingly call her oatmeal and porridge. They knew better to remark as such to her face, and over all, Pansy was glad to have that matter settled; while her mornings had begun earlier than usual, a morning person she was not. Lately, she hadn't been an afternoon or evening person either, as far as Draco was concerned.

The mail arrived with its usual clamor and Pansy wasn't surprised to find an owl soaring down with a letter attached to its leg. Pansy absentmindedly stroked the owl's head as she untied the parchment from its support and watched as it soared away again with a grateful clicking of its beak.

Untying the ribbon that held the parchment rolled, Pansy set it aside and slowly unraveled the letter. The familiar privacy charms, invented for the Parkinson clan by a long deceased ancestor, prevented others from reading over her shoulder, as Draco knew. The majority of pureblooded families had privacy spells that only allowed family members to read from their writing.

Pansy scanned the contents of the letter, a slight frown on her face. The frown grew as she continued reading and by the end, Draco could have sworn she was positively white in the face and that her hands, hands that gripped the parchment in a much tighter than usual hold, were shaking the slightest.

"Are you alright?" Blaise Zabini asked from across the table, also watching the girl with concern on his face. Draco growled under his breath, mentally warning off the other Slytherin. Pansy was Malfoy property, even if not officially yet. Blaise caught Draco's glare and smirked at him, eyes dancing in superiority. "You look like you just swallowed a snake and you're fighting for control over your body."

Pansy stood up abruptly. "If my father has his way, I might just," Pansy replied, climbing over the bench and ignoring her breakfast that had been hardly touched.

"Where are you going? Do you need help or something?" Draco wanted to know, damned if he was to let Blaise best him.

Pansy shook her head, shooting the two with a sharp glance. "The only person who can get me out of this mess is myself, if I don't get killed first. I'm going to see Snape and see if he has any suggestions. Anything else is none of your concern." Draco dropped his posture as Pansy stalked off to the dungeons, too deep in thought to keep his back straight.

"Would your father know what might be going on?" Blaise asked, eyes also following Pansy.

Draco turned his head towards the Italian, fixing him with a glare. "Why would it be any of your concern?" he questioned, voice low and deadly.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "She's not your possession, no matter how much you pull claims and act concerned." Draco scowled back at him. "And because I look after my own. Pansy confuses me, but she also worries me. It's not often you find a pureblooded girl (in Slytherin, at least) who attempts to make something of herself; they're usually all, 'I'm marrying rich and only need to know enough etiquette to transfer a spoon from my plate to my mouth.' I don't know what changed her, but I'm also afraid it's going to keep changing her until she's not even human anymore."

Draco considered what Blaise had just told him. The boy was right, he mused. Pansy had adjusted over the few months they had been back at school, becoming a completely different person. But what if she kept adjusting until there was no girl left in her, no individuality that set her apart from others? He shook his head; he had other concerns to be worrying about right now. Like what had just happened between her and her father. "Right now, all we need to worry about is what's got her knickers in a twist. I'll write father right now. Jasper and Father are close enough that Father can inquire on Jasper's personal life enough that it won't seem suspicious."

_The changes this book will bring you to will not go unnoticed, this is granted. Your peers and coworkers will the first to notice, along with family members and friends. However, it won't be long until you've caught the attention of somebody who plans to use you (and your new personality) for their own good, some high-ranking individual that is willing to place your family, friends, and well-being at risk just to get access to what you've become._

_There really is no sure way to avoid the interest of such these individuals, and it's an almost guarantee that he or she will be completely willing to use you to his/her best advantage. Not being able to access the situation, I can only advise tips to avoid joining forces (or being forced to join) with such a powerful individual._

_A key process is to remain polite with any and all conversation. Keeping a cool head and a polite tone is a means of devious acceptation. A boss is better understanding if you pull an, "Excuse This Poor Underling, But" and an outright "No, Sod Off." _

_Another input of avoiding the process of being used is to make excuses. However, there are right ways and wrong ways to make excuses, and an excuse, no matter how good, can only be used as sparingly as a trump card because after a while, repeated excuses become a "broken record," to coin a muggle phrase, and Lords get tired of hearing "why nots" instead of "yessirs."_

_There are several elements to make your excuse plausible in order to avoid raised eyebrows. Much like the section with revenge, an excuse must be correctly planned and run, but this time, you're on your own to pull such a stunt. When creating the justification, also remember that the majority of leaders, lords, and blackmailers have heard every plea in the book (although I have never located such a piece of literature myself). Outright lies and feeble attempts, therefore, are highly discouraged. Attempting to convince on the fact "Mommy told me not to" will only cause pain and teasing, and possible damage to your mother as well. _

_Another aspect of creating an excuse is to find a single lasting one, one to buy you time, instead of repeated excuses that merely buy you a couple of days at the most; remember to avoid sounding like a broken record. Therefore, excuses following the naïveté of age will usually work, _if you're slick, remain cool, and are polite. _Learn what your would-be "employer" expects in a person, what he has a weakness or softness for, even try to pull a pity-party by appealing to him through his past by coming off as a young Him in the making. _

_Half-truths are easier to work upon than full-out lies._

If Snape was surprised to find Pansy banging on chambers door at ten AM on a Saturday morning, he did not let on. He took one look at her rumpled, distraught form (still clutching the letter), and groggily stepped aside so she could come in. "This better be good," he growled, closing the door behind her and stumbling to a high-backed chair by the fire. "It's morning hours on a Saturday and I feel like Merlin's been shagging my brain all night long."

"Then maybe you ought to consider brewing yourself a hangover potion before late-night bingeing," Pansy replied smartly, not in the mood to hear another's whining. She sat down across from him, crossing her legs and leaning forward.

"Pointless to get wasted in celebration of my weekly, two-day holiday and then not get the wondrous delight of the Next-Morning Hangover," he informed, just as tartly. "What do you want or get out."

"Daddy's made a screw-up," Pansy informed straight to the point. "Daddy's made a screw up and now he's leaving me to fix his problem. Except that he doesn't seem to realize he's placed me in a position I don't want to be in." She handed the letter over to Snape and watched his facial expressions as he read. "And I need your help trying to concoct a way out of it without getting me, or anybody else for that matter, killed."

Snape swore under his breath and looked up at her. "Why come to me?" he asked, suspiciously. He couldn't quite read her expression.

"Because. You're high-ranking. Because you're a mentor. Because I have a feeling you've been put in this position before. Because you're the Head of Slytherin House, and if anybody in this castle is sneaky, it's you. And because… who else am I to turn to that knows the man?" She nodded to the letter. "I don't even have my own father to consult right now, as you might have read. If he hears I'm to defy him in any way, it's back to threats of disowning me. Except this time he might actually go through with it."

"What do you expect from me, then?" Snape wanted to know, sitting back in his chair. "This isn't my affair, and don't get me wrong, Pansy, but I'm not about to risk my arse because Jasper's an idiot with a big mouth and a little heart."

"I need help coming up with an excuse. Nothing permanent, but something that will buy me enough time until I can figure out what I want to do." She paused. "Before I came back to school this year, I would have been thrilled to get such a notion. But now… I feel more insightful and I'm not sure if this path is the one to take. If I were to take up with it, whose to say I wouldn't get killed for lack of enthusiasm? It's just not my style."

Snape rubbed his forearm where Pansy knew his dark mark lay. "Outright refusing is a death sentence," he warned, more for his benefit than hers. She nodded in response. "What you're looking for is something to buy yourself time?" Again, she nodded.

"I can only mentor you," was his response. "It says here you've got up to winter break to make your decision. 'Yes,' or… well, you're smart enough to figure out what the 'or' will lead to, I'm sure. What do you have in mind?"

"I think I have a way to appeal to him, but I'm not quite sure…" she trailed off, before explaining to him her plan.

It seemed that everyday, Snape cursed those over-bright, twinkling blue eyes that sat behind the rims of half-moon shaped glasses. Everyday, he swore at them and their never-ending knowledge of what was to happen in the school. And he also had specific words for times like these, when Albus more than likely knew about the situation, but forced the Potions Master to spell it out for his own enjoyment. Now was one of those times, as Snape hurriedly went over the discussion he'd had with Pansy Parkinson in his dungeons.

Albus smiled serenely. "So do you believe she may be yet listen to reason?" Albus wanted to know, fingers steepled together and elbows resting on his desk. Snape narrowed his eyes slightly; to Albus Dumbledore, any might redeem themselves, no matter what stage of trouble they found themselves. Wasn't he an example of that?

"I believe that Miss Parkinson will listen to none's words but her own. She's creating her own agenda and following it, Albus. And when she makes her decision, she'll more than likely be a strong opponent to those who fight her.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I will leave it to you to assist her in choosing what's right, Severus. You have my trust."

Yes, but how far would trust go at keeping him alive, and her alive, and who's 'right' did Dumbledore wish for him to follow? 'Right' was a relative term, so the question was 'Do what's right for Pansy?' or 'Do what Albus believes to be right?'

The cloak covered Pansy's form and the silver mask that adorned her face also made it difficult to breathe. In moments, she would be facing the Dark Lord, letting him know her decision. She only prayed he would buy what she had to tell him without a great deal of pain and/or outright death.

"My daughter," a hissing voice called out. It wasn't loud, but the gathering was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. "Come forth. I wish to talk to you."

Pansy kept her head down and shuffled to the front. When she reached the Dark Lord, she dropped down on both knees, as Snape had taught her, and kissed the hem of his robes. "My Lord," she murmured, keeping low, "you called for me?"

"Look up at me when I speak to you, girl. I have no time to explain myself twice because you were focusing too hard at my feet instead of my face." Pansy jerked her head up, resisting the urge to flinch. His red eyes acted as lanterns in the dark and he nodded his approval. "Much better, my daughter. Now, no doubt your father has had time to explain the situation to you." He waited for a reply.

"Yes, my lord, indeed, he has," was her dry reply. The 'situation' had been the reason for much fighting within the recess of the Parkinson household as of late. "And in regards to it, several harsh words have been passed through us."

Snape cursed mentally from the assembly of hooded Death Eaters watching on. Pansy was walking on the edge of a bottomless chasm and this was no time for sarcasm and dry comments, least of all with the bipolar Lord Voldemort.

"Fighting, child?" Voldemort replied, eyes narrowing the slightest. Again, Snape warned her mentally to watch her back.

"Indeed, my lord. My father does not seem to realize that I am offended to be his trump card." The Dark Lord nodded for her to continue. "The fact that he cannot live up to his own mistakes, and therefore uses others to cover for him (let alone his own _daughter_!), has me more than slightly irked. And then there's the bit that he's using me, when I don't feel I'm ready."

Pansy took a deep breath to calm her nerves to continue. "My Lord, for the first six years of my education, I was annoying and underachieving and my only concern was that my hair was curly enough to actually attract Draco Malfoy's attention. However, this year, it's like I've gotten insight on how pathetic my life truly was. I've started making changes and finely tuning who I am. My Lord," the pleading now filled her voice. "I've even discovered where the library was, and not only that, I'm _using_ it."

The Dark Lord rose what would have been an eyebrow, had he facial hair. Or any hair at all. "What are you trying to tell me, my daughter?" he wanted to know.

"I need more time to discover who I am, My Lord, before I dedicate my heart and soul to your cause, My Lord."

"Give me one reason why I should not finish you, now and for all, Girl, for defying my orders," Voldemort hissed, twirling his wand around in a free hand. This was Pansy's only chance to convince him to let her live, and she was damned if she was going to sit back and go without a good reason.

"Because I am ready to join your cause, but I want to join for the right reasons. I want to unite because I'm ready to show the world what I'm made of, not because my father screwed up and needs me to cover his arse. Please, my lord." She let her blue eyes meet his red ones for a moment. "Most Hogwarts students take seven years to learn what they need in life. Only now am I finding I have one year to learn what I didn't in the first six."

Voldemort lowered his wand, eyes flashing once. "You should be pleased, Parkinson," he hissed. Pansy realized Voldemort was talking to her father, not her. "You've raised a daughter to be proud of. One that shouldn't be a father's excuse to get his own self out of trouble. I give you until the summer semester to make your choice, Girl," Voldemort stated, now turning back to her. "By then, I expect you to be ready to join me."

Pansy knelt once again, kissing the hem of his robe once more, having an internal bounce of joy. She had until July to put off Lord Voldemort once more. "You are as gracious as you are powerful, My Lord. Both qualities of an exceptional leader."

"Your flattery, while amusing, gets tiring. Return home and continue your learning. I anticipate the day you join my ranks, and if possible, would like to initiate you earlier than July."

Pansy nodded and retreated quickly. Safe. For now. If only Voldemort weren't so hell-bent on using _her_ for _his_ cause!

Draco was trying his best to act nonchalant about the entire deal. He was reclined on the black leather sofa closest to the fire, Pansy taking up one arm of the couch while he was sprawled across the rest. He was already on her nerves for that evening, since when he decided it a good idea to use her lap as a footrest. He was only getting the feeling back in his toes now.

Pansy was lost in her own world, reading a large tome on illegal poisons during the Renaissance; she was trying to memorize as much as she could before returning home for the Christmas holidays, particularly the effects said poisons had that made them banned from the ministry. Draco suspected she'd be doing a little potions brewing in the Parkinson Manor dungeons over the two-week break and resolved to make sure he knew where his drinks had come from when they returned. For now, the small box in his robe pockets interested him.

More importantly, the object in the box in the pocket in his robes, a bump in his log for sure. And how to transfer the object in the box (etcetera, such on, and so forth) from his possession to hers without her getting ideas and without him losing his cool.

"Either get out with it or leave me be," Pansy threatened, not looking up from her book. "The giggling of your foot is getting on my nerves."

"Get out with what?" he wanted to know, slipping his right hand into his pocket.

"Get out what you're nervous about telling me." She looked up. "And don't bother denying your nerves. I know you jiggle your foot as a nervous habit, the same way you tousle your hair when at a loss for words. And the way you cover your nails with a foul-tasting ointment because you chew them when bored." She met his astonished gaze evenly. "I know a great deal about you, Draco Malfoy. It seems I've done little but memorize your life for the past six years."

"And now?" he asked, toying with the silk bow he had tied around the box.

"I've got better things to do than concern myself with how you take your tea." She stood up. "Which is with more sugar and cream than tea, with just a hint of lemon. I'm going to bed."

Pansy was out of the commons before Draco could object and he sat back with a great sigh. Absolutely confusing, that's what _all_ women were.

"Is Mistress sure she isn't wanting Nobbs to care for her trunks?" a small house elf practically begged, fraying the hem of her kerchief that wrapped around her body like a toga.

"Mistress is sure that she will send Nobbs flying down the hallway, nose first, if Nobbs does not leave her be to unpack her own things. Why don't you go feed the Venomous Dragonsnaps?" Pansy replied, leaning against her bed's frame.

"Nobbs is glad Mistress has returned from Hell," the house elf exclaimed, bowing low and exiting quickly; Pansy's suggestion of feeding the man-eating flowers had been just that- a suggestion- and not an order. When pressed for peace, Pansy could come up with creative orders for elf activities.

With a deep sigh that came from the relief of being alone, Pansy pushed the trunk to its side and muttered the charm to deactivate the booby traps she had set on it for those who opened the case without her permission. Her dorm mates claimed she was merely paranoid, but when a third year boy ended up in the hospital for a week, claiming he'd gotten his fingers crushed by a "closing door," Pansy knew the traps had been a good idea.

Reaching for the topmost item, Pansy stopped in mid-grab. A black-velvet box, tied with a green and silver silk ribbon, was nestled neatly in-between a couple of skirts and a pair of socks. Pansy carefully picked up the box, checking it for mysterious spells or hexes. When finding none, she slowly untied the ribbon and eased the box open. Then, she sat back on her haunches, amazed, confused, and slightly speechless. Amongst the gray interior of the box was a silver ring.

It wasn't just "some ring," Pansy had to admit as she slowly pulled it out to admire, for the ring was a piece of exquisite beauty. A miniature dragon's head held a blue diamond in it's molded teeth, ruby-inlaid eyes sparkling with a true dragon's fury. The dragon's body then looped around, forming the ring's band, as it competed with the tail wrapping underneath the dragon's head. Pansy traced the miniature wings, folded into the body, with a finger, before noticing the card that had fallen into her lap when she had been amazed by the ring's magnificence. She read it now.

P-

I had this made just for you, to show that ink-covered fingers and hands bent in the position of holding a quill would really tell nothing about how amazing a person really is. It's because you took the time to learn more about me than I knew. It's because I know just as much about you. And it's because I knew you'd appreciate its beauty and craftsmanship the same way I do you, even if your lowlife father doesn't realize what he is blessed with. Happy Christmas with my well wishes.

-D

---

Pansy told herself it meant nothing when she placed the note under her pillow that evening. She also refused comment when the note remained under the pillow for the next two weeks and ended up in her trunk to return to school with.

_A letter from Lucius Malfoy to his son, dating back to November_

Lucius Malfoy, to: Draco Malfoy

Hogwarts

I received your letter, most likely written in hurried haste, and wrote back as soon as I could. The only thing that comes to mind revolves around the fact that Jasper Parkinson is truly an idiot with a wish for death

Recently, My Lord called his inner circle for a meeting; he wanted to be sure of our loyalty to him. However, Jasper arrived late, smelling of Ogden's firewhiskey and unable to stand without a sway. Jasper has always had difficulty keeping a hold of his sharp tongue and cynicism; inebriation only added to the problem and he deeply offended My Lord with a muttered comment of the easiness of life before My Lord's service.

Parkinson used Pansy as a means to escape My Lord's wrath. Promised My Lord her services as a vengeful follower without consulting to Pansy first.

We might be Slytherin, and we might date back centuries, but pureblooded families care for their children and love them; Jasper is an imbecile for looking down on Pansy and using her as his trump card to avoid the Dark Lord's displeasure.

Your mother sends her love,

-Father

_A letter From Draco Malfoy to Blaise Zabini_

Draco Malfoy, to: Blaise Zabini

Darkwood Manor

Somewhere in Italy, Not Quite Sure Where and Definitely Not Caring to Ask

If I find you sending Pansy anything bent in the shape of a heart again, Zabini, you will regret it. Find enclosed the necklace I knew you tried giving to her for Christmas.

Happy holls.

-Draco

_A letter from Blaise Zabini to Pansy Parkinson_

Blaise, to: Pansy

TOPIC: Draco Malfoy

Parkinson Manor

Scotland

Hey, Pansy. Hope you're enjoying the holidays as I am; Mother and Father took my sister and I to our summer manor on the beach and I was introduced to muggle "water skiing". I'll tell you, muggles sure know what they're doing when it comes to an adrenaline high.

Could you do me a favor, because Draco seems incapable of civil conversation, and inform him that you're not his tool and that people may be friends with you if they like?

Thanks, and have a great winter break!

-Blaise'n Like the Sun

_A Letter from Pansy Parkinson to Blaise Zabini_

Pansy Parkinson, to: Blaise Zabini

RE: Draco Malfoy

Darkwood Manor

Somewhere In Italy on the Beach, Not Quite Sure Where and Definitely Not Caring to Look it Up

You're a big boy. Handle your own problems. When you have a REAL reason to write me, feel free not to and save it.

Thanks, and you have a great winter break too!

-Pansy, who isn't dumb enough to turn her name into some cheesy lingo like "Pansy and her fields of bees and chipmunks and severe cases of asthma"

_A letter from Hermione Granger to Ginevra Weasley_

Hermione, to: Ginny

Topic: Ronald Weasley

The Burrow

Thanks for the presents, Ginny! Mum, Dad, and I are having a blast in Italy. We ran into Blaise Zabini on the beach; he seemed a bit grim and mumbled something about Pansy and PMS.

Let Ron know that his gift of Bertie Botts-Flavored Bertie Botts Beans was… interesting. At least Crookshanks thought so, when he was able to open his mouth again. Several hours later.

-H

_A note from Ginny Weasley to her brother, left on the kitchen table_

Ginny, to: The Prat

Topic: Bertie Botts…

The kitchen table

The Burrow

You spend three Hogsmeade visits looking for a Christmas present, and you buy her Bertie Botts-Flavored Bertie Botts Beans? Are you DAFT?

-Ginny

_A Howler From Molly Weasley to her youngest son_

MOTHER, TO: RONALD

TOPIC: YOUR LANGUAGE

Romania

I DON'T KNOW HOW SHE MANAGED, BUT YOUR SISTER WAS ABLE TO RECORD SOME OF YOUR LANGUAGE OF THE CONVERSATION YOU HAD ABOUT HERMIONE'S CHRISTMAS GIFT, RONALD.

I AM APPALLED BY THE LANGUAGE I HEARD COME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, YOUNG MAN, AND SIMPLY WILL NOT DO WITH IT. YOU CAN BET THAT WHEN I RETURN, THERE'S A SCOURGIFY WITH YOUR NAME ON IT.

TO THINK, MY SON SPEAKS THE GARBAGE OF THE SLUMS.

-MOTHER

---------------------

Less letters, more story. I've finally started with the Draco/Pansy romance and hope I've established how much of a slime ball Jasper really is. When I first made him, I meant for him to be a hard-to-please father, but he's slowly turned into an Ass. I officially start school Thursday, the fourth, so I tried my hardest to get this chapter out now than never. The next one may take a bit in coming, because I can only ever write at night. Early morning, really, seeing as it's 12:30 right now. However, for some reason, my muse becomes sober whenever I go to write this fic. It's ten times easier writing for a Pansy/Draco than a Hermione/Draco EVER was for me.

Kudos to my reviewers (I love you guys, can I marry ALL of you?), as they have made many happy vents on my livejournal and my message board. I know I haven't mentioned names, and I don't wish to start now, but one particular reviewer, TheAnonymous1 absolutely made my day when I read the review she/he? Left (I will use CORRECT grammar and **not** use "they", for it will be changing the person I'm writing it). Seeing "syntax" made me giggle and bounce with joy, especially when complimented for it.

…Authors notes are such fun to write. I could go on forever, but I'll spare you and leave it at this. Muy love from one of your HMS Snitch and Bitch intakes!

-Achi


	5. Chapter 4: Musings and Then Some

You guys rock

Both of my sock(s).

School is my (writer's) block…

And although I may talk

HP's under lock

It's part of Jo's stock.

…It's nine o'clock

And I still hate Bach,

So let's eat some pock(ie)

Or anything else from the baroque period, I realize. It's all, "Woohoo! Let's sound EXACTLY THE SAME!" Um… on another note, my last disclaimer poem got a line cut off the end. It's "And me? I have no fame as yet/Why else would I post on I don't know if all mentionings of get chopped off or some disgruntled worker for chopped it off, but if they did, I wish they had asked first. My rhyming meter was even MORE off because of it. On with the show, then.

-Achi

Epiphany

Rated: PG-13

Chapter Four: Musings and Then Some

Draco's least favorite time of year slowly rolled around with an early morning frost and clouds of invading pinkness from the Great Hall. For most people, Valentine's Day was for celebrating half-naked cherubs and snogging couples, but since puberty, Draco realized Valentine's Day was more for teasing the unfortunates and harboring underclassmen-crushes on pretty figures. In example, himself. For Valentine's Day, fifth year, he had to kindly let down a handful of Hufflepuff second years.

As kindly as a Slytherin could, he corrected himself. _Only_ two of them went off in tears and he'd been questioned for the uncommon charity.

As it was, the hall was decorated in unattractive pinks, reds, and golds that clashed with the cloudy skies reflected on the ceiling, magical pink and red chain links lining the walls of the dining areas. Draco was slightly amused to see house elves, decorated in cherub togas and strap-on wings, running around the tables, trying to serve the half-groggy Hogwarts students the best they could.

He watched with lowered lashes as Pansy glared at her daily porridge, colored pink for the holiday. He held back a snicker as she grabbed the closest house elf and played twenty questions about the defilement of her breakfast. He almost didn't notice as Blaise took a seat next to Pansy. However, he did notice as a jewelry box made its way out of the Italian's pocket and next to Pansy's plate. The blonde hairs on the back of his neck rose and he growled under his breath.

Pansy looked up from the house elf. "What's this?" she demanded. Draco congratulated her on her terseness and once again, like many times since Christmas holidays, his attention became fastened to the intricate dragon wrapped around her right hand's ring finger; he never expected the ring to end up in the engagement ring spot, and was pleased to see her wear it out of her dorm anyway.

"A Valentine's Day gift. Surely you realized today was February 14th?" Blaise asked, stretching casually.

She looked down to her bowl of porridge, over to the cowering house elf, and then to the paper links suffocating the portraits in the Great Hall. "Oh," she replied simply, blinking several times. "I hadn't realized I was going to get dragged into this yearly mess."

Blaise now shrugged nonchalantly and Draco was not fooled by the show. His keen blue eyes could sense the nervousness in his rival's actions, offhanded shrugs put aside. Pansy had blown both hot and cold to Blaise, keeping him on his toes, since Christmas break, while she had pointedly avoided Draco at all costs. However, Draco was not put off by Pansy's cold reaction. He merely figured she was overwhelmed by the ring and wished for time to figure out her thoughts. He hoped.

"You're supposed to open it," Blaise commented, nodding towards the box. Pansy's eyes momentarily met Draco's in a silent question. He grinned behind a hand at her response and she nodded slightly in reply.

Picking up the box with a little caution, Pansy grimaced at the pink and silver ribbon, quickly ripping off the offending article before flipping the box open. Draco had to admit her grimace had been well hidden; he'd only noticed it because he was expecting it. "Wow, Blaise, this sure is… something," she commented.

Blaise grinned at her tone. "I was at a loss as what to get you, so I asked around and was told that girls like jewelry. Mom insisted on giving this to you; it's a family heirloom. I was thrilled. It'll look great on you." Taking the box from her hands, Blaise pulled out the pendant and went to fasten it around Pansy's neck. "You make it beautiful, Fair Lady," he purred.

Draco was tickled pink to see a heart-shaped adornment hanging from the end of a chain. Rose quartz and garnet were inlaid to make half of the hart and a metal band connected to complete the shape. He held back his snickers at the look of astonishment, confusion, and disgust that crossed Pansy's face. Girls may like jewelry, but Blaise had also forgotten many girls were picky. Even Pansy, the new Pansy that had emerged from the waste and chaos, enjoyed tasteful sparklies but a rose quartz heart did not amount to a diamond dragon.

"Wow, Blaise… I don't know what to um…" Pansy trailed off, face taking on an odd look of horror. "It's sure… pink."

Blaise practically beamed. "I thought you might like it," he stated.

"Amazing, Blaise. You sure know girls to a point," Draco stated, fighting his first instinct (laughter) for control. "I would never have thought to get Pansy a heart for Valentine's Day." While Draco's sarcasm went over Blaise's head, Pansy smirked at him. Suddenly, her eyebrows furrowed together and she cast Draco with a confused look. She jumped back, quickly looking away, grabbing her things, and taking a stand.

Mumbling a quick apology and even quicker thanks, Pansy practically ran out of the hall, leaving Draco confused in her wake. Draco glared to himself and also stood. Instances like this had been happening for two months now. The other day, he'd caught Pansy mumbling to herself while reading a book. She would have begun yelling had she not noticed his presence. Instead, she hurriedly shut her book, muttering, "This isn't over," and running off in the direction of her dorm.

Quietly he mused, only getting so far. She'd had that book since September, always carried it about in her bags, and referred to it with her problems. As far as he knew, it was a self-help book. That she had told him. However, he wondered how Pansy could finish dusty tomes on illegal potions in days, yet keep a hold of the ratty, torn pages of the thin booklet for over half a year. He'd have to ask around about it later. For now, he merely sat back and watched.

Pansy had the book closed and from the other side of the table was glaring down upon its tattered cover. "I don't have to listen to anything you tell me," she muttered, talking to the material. "I run my own life. You're only a book. I don't have to follow anything you have printed within your cover.

The peeling gold title flashed in the light of the library, as if to challenge her. "I choose my own mate. I don't care if Blaise has connections to the black market. I don't care that he has dashing good looks and wavy black hair. I don't care that he gets me Valentine's Day trinkets, no matter how hackneyed, when Draco doesn't. This is a Pansy discussion. Not a You Make the Decision For Me."

Hermione Granger watched from several tables down, making a show of reading _A History of 101 Magical Ailments_. When Pansy had first bested her on the book, Hermione had been too irked to warn the unpleasant girl about the magical devices in store for her. Now, five months later, Hermione was getting worried. Of course, she had noticed when Pansy's style became bearable and her school work became topnotch, but Hermione was living proof that Opening a Book would lead to excellent school grades. However, over time, Pansy had slowly moved more and more into herself and began to push people away. She'd become quieter. Granted, anything was more silent than the Pansy from Hermione's sixth year classes, but the level Pansy had become introverted on was alarming. Even teachers quietly talked about the Slytherin from behind closed doors and thick walls, but Hermione only knew this because a Head Girl with a new book meant talking to a brick wall.

Hermione knew that, at this point, only Pansy could beat the battle in her mind. Already, Pansy was showing signs of defiance. Hermione prayed that she could withstand the battle while finishing the book. Only then, could the girl decide which path she wished to choose, having gone this far into the material.

'Never trust a thing if you can't see where it stores its brains indeed,' Hermione thought, snapping her tome shut and hurrying off; it would do her no good to worry about the female, and merely viewing Pansy's battle made it difficult for her to concentrate.

Kamalia Parkinson was not one for deep thought. She enjoyed arranging dinner buffets and creating agreeable placement charts, not worrying about what her daughter had gotten herself into. However, with Jasper's newfound bitterness towards their only daughter, Kamalia figured it was up to her to worry for the both of them.

Worry she did.

Kamalia understood that Pansy had become more studious, and was thrilled at the possibility of raising a daughter whom others could only be jealous of. Kamalia also realized that Pansy's more conservative way of dressing lowered the unladylike rumors passed around her inner circle of friends, most of them more than likely coming from Lady Bulstrode and her troll of a daughter (Kamalia quietly thought that Millicent fancied the young Weasley girl anyway, but did not speak her suspicions. At least not around Lady Bulstrode). And privately, Kamalia was tiptoeing through the tulips over the fact that Pansy had survived from not joining Lord Voldemort with a simple, "I'm not ready," although only for the time being. Kamalia would not state this around any of her present company, but she surreptitiously thought the Dark Lord's beliefs were a little too radical and hypocritical than wizarding society needed. However, Kamalia **was** becoming unnerved by the correspondence and meetings she had had with her daughter as of lately.

Over Christmas holidays, Pansy had been secluded. Family dinners had gone on with silence, Kamalia finally giving up on forceful conversation after Pansy merely nodded and Jasper ignored anything having to do with his daughter. When not dining or in the library, Pansy closed herself up in her bedroom, mumbling comments of being tired. Christmas day had been a somber affair, the opening of presents practically taken as any other day would have been. Kamalia had been overjoyed to find Pansy had purchased her a boxset of bodice rippers (how she loved heaving bosoms and throbbing packages!) and for Jasper, a set of the finest Cuban cigars Pansy's weekly allowance of two galleons allotted. However, Pansy's reaction to a heap of various gifts, including a new pair of dress robes and an out of print copy of _Ars Alchema_ had barely been acknowledged.

After several months and even fewer pained, quick notes admitting a continued existence, Kamalia was at a loss of what to do and had turned to the only hand she agonizingly trusted with her deepest thoughts, no matter how much she loathed it.

Narcissa Malfoy sat across from her, legs crossed and tea balanced on one knee. "You say the problem is Pansy?" the lady asked, chilly blue eyes boring into Kamalia's own. "Draco's mentioned that she's been acting slightly odd, but he thought it was because of the midwinter gift he got her." Narcissa smiled slightly at the talk of her son. "I remember when Lucius first started courting me. I couldn't look at him directly for weeks. Granted because when I did…" she trailed off and a slight blush colored her cheeks. Kamalia bit the side of her cheek, keeping her mouth shut.

It wasn't that Kamalia hated Narcissa. At least, not without a good reason. However, Narcissa had been the embodiment of everything Kamalia had wanted- long and pure bloodline, a full vault at Gringrotts, slim and chillingly gorgeous, and married to Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy had been a fish any pureblooded family wished to snare in a net, and Kamalia had been among those considered suitable for marriage. A long outstanding bloodline, plenty of gold, and a pretty enough face for "trophy wife," Kamalia was of age for Lucius Malfoy to court when he had been looking to marry. Indeed, he had even considered as such, and nearly had courted her, when Narcissa's elder sister left for a muggleborn wizard and left the family in dishonor. However, Narcissa had never been one to be bested and had climbed back to her feet with a bounce and a drop of a handkerchief. Before Kamalia even realized what had happened, Narcissa and Lucius had headed down a white aisle with projectile rice aimed for their heads. In return, Kamalia ended up with…

Jasper Parkinson was a good enough man. He was pureblooded, yes. Attractive in his youth, the secretive man had been quick with his tongue and willing to prove his worth to any who asked for it. Now an adult, Jasper was a man gone to seed. Days were spent with a handy bottle of Ogden's finest in his left hand and an angry quill in his other. Alcohol and a sharp tongue were bad to mix, Kamalia surmised. He had come to this conclusion the hard way, and their daughter had almost paid for it with her life. As much as Kamalia cared about her own status, she did love her daughter with a mother's heart. Such a deceitful manner would not be forgotten and Jasper would get his just rewards.

That is what Narcissa had left for Kamalia when Lucius Malfoy had been manhandled out from under her nose. From the attractive, caring father, Kamalia ended up with the sarcastic, drunken bastard with enough love in his heart to turn the sky green. And the last time Kamalia had checked, the sky was, indeed, blue.

"But it's not that," Kamalia stated, returning from her thoughts to the conversation at hand. "She's… She's not the type of girl to stay secluded from a boy. Not before the book, not after the book."

Narcissa knit her eyebrows together. "What book?" she asked.

"Pansy mentioned in September that she found a book on self-help that she was trying to follow. When she started reading it, her personality changed. A lot. She became more studious, more reliable, and definitely more respectable. I've had the majority of her professors write, asking for a reason of the change. I merely told them she was correcting the flaws in her character. Except, now it seems that her flaws were more like gaping chasms into an abyss and she's filling them in, pebble by pebble."

"Would you by any chance know the author of this book?" Narcissa asked, blue eyes calculating.

"Morganna. Morganna LeFaye, King Arthur's half-sister."

It was Valentine's Day evening, and Pansy decided if she saw another shade of pink (or red), she was going to enroll herself into an insane asylum and start on a mass killing spree of cherubs and floral vegetation in the time being. The day had progressively gone from bad to even badder.

Worse.

Whatever the correct grammar was.

Currently, she was too tired to ponder grade school knowledge as she prepared herself for bad.

Pansy's mind had been going a full three hundred and sixty degrees over the thoughts and prospects of a relationship. Somewhere between lunch and dinner, a full-fledged gang war began between her heart and her head, and the victor had yet to emerge. Her head was telling her to run to Blaise and throw herself upon him for the necklace (yuck!) he had presented for the Day of Love. Her heart, on the other hand, was telling her to march up to Draco and demand where the hell _his_ Valentine's Day present was. Somewhere in between, the small portion of Pansy's brain known as "reason" and another small portion of her heart called "feeling" had informed her that the headache and heart burn she had gotten would most likely continue into the late evening.

'This could be easy,' the slick, oily part of her brain informed her. 'Tall, dark, and handsome, willing to show his love to you, siblings, an Italian villa by the sea. What does that other boy have to offer you? Death eating? Family tradition by following a war you don't want to be in? Why doesn't he care enough to send you a present on this day, anyway?'

'The day isn't over yet,' Pansy's heart pleaded. 'He'll come. I know he will. Draco loves me for who I am, not because I've proven myself worthy of his time. I don't even know if he's following his father's footsteps; the war might even be over by the time school ends and I won't even have to consider the process of fighting off Voldemort myself.'

'You should make the choice that's best for you. Draco didn't even look twice at you before you came across my book, only when it improved you.'

'Neither did Blaise,' the heart fought back.

'Why keep fighting? It only increases the pain,' the brain taunted back, a drawling tone now adopted. 'I'll only win in the end.'

Pansy screamed in frustration and stormed into her bedroom that she shared with the other girls her age. About to throw herself down on her bed, she stopped abruptly.

A single rose sat on her pillow, a silver ribbon tied to its long stem, a note attached to its end.

Pansy untied the note, read it carefully, and just as gently set it down upon her bed table. She picked up the rose with just as much care, clutched it to her breast, and laid herself down upon the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling.

'This is why I keep fighting. Because he knows me just as well as I know him, yet we keep surprising each other anyway,' the heart finished, knowing it was right. The brain had no reply.

Draco admitted he was amazed to see the long-stemmed red rose resting against his pillow. He untied the green ribbon that was connected to the rose, read the card, and grinned a special grin. They complimented each other as well as his parents did.

_A note from Draco Malfoy to Pansy Parkinson, attached to a rose on Valentine's Day_

At least I know better than to get you gaudy jewelry. I've already done that. Mother would have never permitted something so hideous sitting around in the treasury anyway.

Be mine, for this day? And be ready to melt down that necklace and pawn it?

-D

_A note from Pansy Parkinson to Draco Malfoy, attached to a rose on Valentine's Day_

If I find you didn't get me anything for Valentine's Day, I swear to god I will lead Blaise on for the next month, consequences or no. Gods I hate this holiday. Why am I even participating in it?

-P

_A letter from Lady Zabini to her son, dating back to February 4th_

Mama, to: Blaise

Hogwarts

Darling, I have just the gift for you to give our bella dame on the holiday of love. I had this necklace made for you. What lady couldn't resist silver and rose quartz? I will let you know, if your father had ever made any such necklace for me, I would have started having children a little sooner, if you get my meaning.

Make sure to use protection, love.

-Mama

_A note from Ronald Weasley to Harry Potter_

Ron, to: Harry

Topic: Hermione

Oi, mate. Why is Hermione acting all twitchy and expectant and upset all at once? It's like I've accidentally got her preggers and we're waiting to tell her folks (no, she's not, and no, we're not). Do you have any idea why she's acting like a bomb? Or a hormone-driven preggers-lady?

_A note from Harry Potter to Ronald Weasley_

Harry, to: Ron

RE: Hermione

You didn't forget Valentine's Day, did you? Because that would do it…

_A note from Ronald Weasley to Harry Potter_

Ron, to: Harry

RE: RE: Hermione

Fuck.

_A note from Hermione Granger to Ginny Weasley_

Hermione, to: Ginny

Topic: Your brother

Gryffindor Message Board

Gryffindor Commons

Dear Ginny,

The next time you see your brother, can you inform him that he is so low I am not even stooping to hex him in this case, and that he bloody well pull a miracle for my forgiveness?

Much love,

Hermione

_A note from Ginny Weasley to Hermione Granger_

Ginny, to: Hermione

RE: Your brother

Gryffindor Message Board

Gryffindor Commons

Dear Hermione,

The message will be passed. Another concern arises from the midst: he's not so low that **I** couldn't hex him…

Awaiting with puppy-dog eyes,

Ginny

_A note from Ronald Weasley to his sister_

Ron, to: Brat

RE: RE: Your brother

Gryffindor Message Board

Gryffindor Commons

Don't you dare, you brat, or I'll rat on what I found you and Harry doing a week ago in the broom closet outside the portrait of Circe and the pigs. This is between Hermione and me and I don't need you to get involved.

_A note from Harry Potter to Ronald Weasley_

Harry, to: Ron

Hospital Wing

Hey, mate. When do you think Madame Pomfrey will release you from the hospital wing? I think Hermione's almost ready to hear your apologies, and what consists of Making It Up To Her.

Just so you know, Ginny's said your mum took her side of the argument. And as a warning, there might be a howler coming in the mail sometime. She hinted as such.

_A note from Ronald Weasley to his mother_

Ron, to: Mum

Topic: Dear Mum,

The Burrow

England

Dear Mum,

Before you send the howler, think of Madame Pomfrey's reaction to normal loud noises in the infirmary. Now think of what her reaction would be to a magically induced one that produces ten times as much noise.

With that covered, I'd like to let you know I have paid homage to Ginny's anger, apologized to Harry for almost ratting on him, and plan to make it up to Hermione as soon as she forgives me long enough to hear me out. Otherwise, I'm still in a lot of pain and don't think I'll be riding a broom any time soon.

Much love,

Ron

------------------

: Feel free to guess conspiracy theories in any reviews as to how my fic will end. It's rounding up to a point where there are only a few chapters left… Two, maybe three? In the meantime, I will recommend a story of my own, for any searching for a GOOD read. "Temporary Insanity" is by Arbitrary and I've been following it since it came out. Yes, it's Draco/Hermione, but the wit is excellent, the characters are AMAZING, and the situations make me melt like butter in Florida and wish I were Hermione. Go read it. Then plead for Arbitrary to update as quickly as possible… it's been over two months and last time I waited four ;;


	6. Chapter 5: The Dream

The time has come

The tale now short

But who has won

My adventurous sport?

It's one long war

Of wits and ends,

Though worry not, for

The relationship mends

I own it not

(-- Luck's brilliant stroke)

For all Jo's got,

… I'm completely broke.

This chapter (hell, this STORY) is dedicated to my one muse who does NOT party in Ireland where the men have lower inhibitions and/or accents. Jamie, if it weren't for your (hypothetical) cheerleading, I probably wouldn't have continued. This is to your support, from the first time I posted chapter one in my livejournal, to now. I adore you.

-Achi (Did you get teary-eyed yet? Huh? Huhuh?)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I tried to be as mythologically correct as possible. I took a few authors' liberties (Lachlan is mine), but outside of that, let it be known: I tried

Epiphany

Rated: PG-13

Chapter Five: The Dream

Pansy could always tell when she was dreaming. Whether in black and white (an obvious commentary that, what she thought was real, wasn't) or in color, the same aspects of her dream world always applied, for in every dream, reality became fuzzy and details that were normally the bane of her existence went unnoticed.

It wasn't abnormal for Pansy to dream, and she found that she often had several in a week, so to find herself within an unfamiliar room and in the presence of a man she'd seen before, yet couldn't quite place, wasn't as strange as it would have been were she awake. She couldn't help but notice the numbers of small, blue beings flying about her head, pulling on locks of hair that were not normally red, nor curly, obvious commentary of her current dream state.

The man in front of her smirked in an epitome of smirks. "You really shouldn't put up with this," he informed her, leaning forward in his high backed armchair. "I've seen the extent of your anger and you could easily blow them away. Even though your control is terrible."

Dream Pansy rolled her eyes. "They always come back in greater congregations. Maeve isn't even dealing with this situation, Laez. It seems to be that I've angered her and she's put me under the care of one of the fae lords. In return," Dream Pansy stopped and pointed at the fae tangling her hair, "I've got these little bastards acting as a pain in the ass around my head."

The man smirked at her again, his green eyes coming off as menacing. "To say you 'angered' Maeve is an understatement, love. Maeve doesn't take kindly to people belittling her."

Dream Pansy rolled her eyes. "You know as well as I do that she deserved it. She was meddling in affairs that she doesn't need to be brought into. Maeve is in charge of the fae, the old ways, nothing more and nothing less. She doesn't need to be telling, or forcing, or even complimenting you on the way the school's being run. She's acting as an evil advocate, sitting on your shoulder and whispering into your ear about who should be allowed into the institution and who shouldn't be. It's only going to cause anguish in future years, Laez."

"And I can't help it that I agree with some of her points, Morganna. I'm afraid that if we bring in too many muggle-born children, the wizarding society is going to stretch the magic thin. Who's to say there will so many part-wizarding, part-muggle births that one day, the wizarding community will cease to exist?" he wanted to know, now fixing her with his Full Attention, something that Dream Pansy did not appreciate; it made her nervous and she felt like fidgeting in her seat.

"And what if magic isn't one of those things people split amongst themselves? You act like magic is more of a color than a trait, where wizards and witches are blue and muggles are yellow. Mix them together and you have an impure form of green as the offspring. Keep mixing that green with the yellow and soon, there won't be a trace of blue left. Magic doesn't work like that, Laez," Dream Pansy pleaded, folding her fingers together to prevent them from tugging at the fibers in her dress, a nervous habit. "And will you stop tugging at my hair," she spat, ripping the auburn strands from a particularly violent sprite. It laughed at her and spat water into her face, a trademark signature of that particular breed of sprites.

"I have had it up to here with them," Dream Pansy ranted to the man, standing up from her seat and ripping the rest of her hair from mischievous hands. "I can't even walk into muggle villages anymore without these little bastards raising a ruckus for me. I had to obliviate three villagers yesterday, Laez," she commented, pacing about the room. "These little fellows decided to manually attack the villagers and were worse than ever to me, ripping at my hair, tugging at my clothes, attempting to make me hover about the ground before dropping me from an unwilling two or three feet up. There's no stopping them!"

"Yes there is," Laez commented evenly, folding his hands across this torso and fixing Dream Pansy with a smoldering gaze through half-closed eyes. "Complaining to Maeve is pointless, but you can always go to the one controlling the sprites."

Dream Pansy stopped, her navy skirts following seconds behind her. She ignored the sprites as they reattached to her hair. "Lachlan is more stubborn than I am. You know this, Laez. I've seen you try to season with her and she just giggles and tosses her hand and… It was actually kind of funny at the time, but I'll never admit to that again because you look like you're about to kill me and isn't the weather nice today?" Dream Pansy rambled, noting the menacing glare he sent to her soul.

"I never said reason with her," Laez replied. "Defeat her. Take her turf. Show her what you're made of, to coin a phrase."

Dream Pansy rolled her eyes. "And now you sound like that idiot Godric. You, as well as I, know that fae can't be killed. They're immortal, just like you aren't."

Salazar Slytherin, Morganna LeFaye's long time mentor and part time amour stood to his full height and stretched. "I'm not dumb, Morganna. But you might be for comparing me to Gryffindor." He casually sauntered to where she stood and towered a head and shoulders over her frame. "I know you can't kill fae. But you can trap them."

-----

Pansy woke from her dream with a start, wondering the significance behind that particular phenomenon. The dream had been one of the more realistic dreams she'd had in her life, almost as if reliving a history lesson or a memory through her sleep. As if it were trying to tell her something.

She snorted, rolled over, and stared at the clock that read "early morning." More than likely, such a dream _was_ trying to tell her something. She'd lived long enough in the wizarding world to know that such vivid things didn't often occur without reason. However, figuring out the reasoning behind the dream wouldn't be quite as easy. She guessed she might as well sit back and wait for whatever happenings to happen. She closed her eyes and drifted back into sleep.

-----

The feel of her next dream was different. The warmth of the chambers from the last dream was no longer present, as, in compensation, blasts of rain and wind managed to drench and hurl Dream Pansy about. Sodden clumps of hair flew around her head, half-obscuring her vision and sticking to her forehead. Her gown weighed her down and made it difficult to be agile, and overall, Dream Pansy was miserable, but only half of her thoughts were focused on her state of being. The other half currently resided with the immortal being in front of her who was causing the rain and wind.

"You mortals think you're so smart and brilliant," the voice commented. Dream Pansy couldn't get a clear look at the speaker, the rain, wind, and random sprites blurring her vision. They giggled at her present state. "Do you think that I wouldn't stop to wonder what your final rage would be? That it wouldn't come down to this?"

Nearly invisible hands reached out to stroke her face. "Do you think Laez was aware that sending you after me would be your downfall, love?"

Dream Pansy slapped the hand away, now seeing complete red; Salazar Slytherin had left Hogwarts half a year ago under the pretences of creative differences. It had been rumored that Lachlan's minions had spent the past two years whispering troublesome, evil thoughts into Laez's mind, the reasoning behind the 'creative differences.' To say that without Lachlan, Laez would have never had anti-muggleborn thoughts was doubtful, but Lachlan had fueled his anger and driven him to incomprehensible results. Morganna had never stopped to think he would leave her, but now that he had, she hadn't had time to stop and grieve.

"I'm stronger than you," both Dream Pansy and Morganna whispered, dropping the wand to the ground and closing eyes simultaneously. Struggling for a moment on clearing her thoughts, Morganna emptied her mind and concentrated on the task in front of her. Lachlan's sprites giggled around her and the lady of the Fae Court laughed out loud.

"What if you do defeat me?" taunted Lachlan, voice echoing in Morganna's mind. "What is left for you? The school? The Fortunate Isle, with your ill-conceived half-brother? You are a healer, Morganna, not a warrior."

Those lines snapped Morganna's attention directly to the fae in front of her. "I may be a healer," she whispered, forcing all of her strength into the center of her being, "But I am a Battle Queen in my magic." With one deep breath, Morganna sent all of her gathered power to the Fae Lady.

A laugh slowly turned into a scream from in front of her. "You are a prophet and a healer, Morganna Le Faye! You do not measure to my strengths! You cannot destroy me!"

The cries ended in a single pop and the winds died almost immediately. Morganna/Dream Pansy opened her eyes tiredly, sagging both mentally and physically. The sprites, once pulling and tugging on her dress and hair now stopped and settled to the ground, gazing curiously at the woman who had just defeated their lady.

"I am a prophet, and I am a healer, but I am not to be disparaged, Lady Lachlan of the Breton water sprites. Revenge is a bitch."

Dream Pansy bent down to pick up a tattered, brown book. The title, once written in gold lettering, had long since peeled off in time and left only splatterings of gold to hint at the grandeur the book had once had. She sighed. "Now, to take care of this, to place it where it will not let out which it hides," she stated. Bending down, she held a finger out to a random sprite. "Come, my Morganes. We have work to do to cover up Lachlan's folly and begin anew." Fae and woman alike trudged to the outline of a dark castle, Morganna's final battle fought and won.

-----

Panic had settled over the castle while Pansy slept, lost to her dream memories, while the remaining students and professors settled to battle. While the month of May had brought final exams, a final battle had settled amongst the castle as well and the majority of fifth through seventh years were currently stationed within the Great Hall, pale with worry and determination. Amongst them were a surprising number of Slytherins, including one Draco Malfoy.

"Just because my father is a Death Eater does not mean I am one as well," Draco had informed one Harry Potter just hours before. "Father understands my choice is one I hope to not drag my children under. I've seen what being a Death Eater has done to my loved ones, and I want to stop this before more of my family gets screwed over." He paused momentarily. "I'm also hoping to have a little one-on-one with a Master Jasper Parkinson for being a lousy human being, a terrible husband, and indescribable father. Before this night is over, he will be begging me for mercy and apologizing for Pansy without realizing it."

"And what _does_ your father think?" an uncouth Ginny Weasley had asked, not one for tact or dancing around a question.

"We both agreed to start at opposite sides of the room and to pray that somebody would take one of us out before facing off. I personally think he's afraid of me." Draco buffered his nails on his Hogwarts robes and ignored the unladylike snickers from Ginny's direction. Her elder brother in turn managed to scowl even deeper.

"I still wouldn't trust a Slytherin with my life," he muttered. Draco felt like patting him gently on the head and sitting him down in a nice little corner to live his life.

"It's a good thing I'm not fighting against my father's beliefs in a battle for you then, eh, Weasley? I'm in this for one person. And it's not one of the Golden Trio."

"_Have_ you seen Pansy?" a voice asked. Draco rolled his eyes and faced Blaise Zabini who was looking as nervous as a dog before an earthquake.

"I didn't bother to wake her. I left her to sleep in the dormitory and threatened the other girls if they were to wake her," Draco replied, fixing the oak doors of the Great Hall with unmoving gray eyes.

Blaise shrugged and stretched his neck by rolling his head in a circle. Draco could practically sense the radiation of nerves coming off the Italian boy. "It's just she's been acting odd lately," Blaise commented. "She's blowing hot and cold, as if she were fighting over the rights of her mind and thinking skills. Sometimes I wonder if somebody has tapped into her mind and forced her to pull stunts she wouldn't normally do. If we were anywhere but Hogwarts, I'd think somebody had Imperio-ed her."

Several feet away, Hogwarts' infamous Head Girl (who had been harmlessly eavesdropping on the two Slytherin boys) had a serious coughing fit into a cup of pumpkin juice. The connection was not lost on Draco and he slowly turned to Hermione. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the way Parkinson's been acting this school year, now would you?" he wanted to know, threat underlying is question.

Hermione wiped at watering eyes and turn to fix Draco with her gaze. "I know that you know the ancient myths surrounding our culture and beginning history of magic. Every pureblooded parent double checks to make sure that their children have the basics of history before leaving for Hogwarts. I read up on it in a book."

"And?" Draco wanted to know, mentally crossing his arms in expectant waiting.

"It's going to be terrible when you have to start applying things you learned in school to real life, isn't it, Malfoy," Hermione shot back, fixing his blank look with one of her own.

"Cut to the chase, Granger. We're about to get attacked by the Battle to End All Battles. I don't feel like playing twenty questions about what's happening to Pansy Parkinson."

"It started in September. We met in the library by accident, she was mumbling something about getting kicked out of the commons by you two," she inclined her head in Draco and Blaise's direction. "We had a brief scuffle over a book. That tattered, leather-bound book."

Draco gave Hermione a blank look.

"It's called _Epiphany_, and it's by Morganna Le Faye."

Realization dawned upon Draco, as the doors to the Great Hall slammed open. Strengthening his resolve, he forced himself to face the doors and fight the Death Eaters now streaming into the hall. The only thing saving Pansy now would be herself.

-----

Waking from her last dream was more difficult than waking from her first. Pansy could sense gaining consciousness, but her eyes felt like they had been weighed down by lead and her body felt as if somebody had slipped dried gillyweed into a cigarette and forced her to smoke. Slowly raising an arm to rub her temples, Pansy was surprised to find herself half weighed down by small, flittering bugs. Her eyes immediately shot open and for several seconds, her vision blurred and then cleared.

A small, winged person grinned down at her with the blank, mischievous grin only a lesser fae could produce. All about her head and her chambers, water pixies flittered about, tearing at hangings, ripping at pages, and causing as much mayhem as could be done by multitudes of small bodies working together.

"What the hell is going on?" Pansy demanded, slowly sitting up and reaching for her wand. The bedside table was empty.

"Missing something, deary?" an unfamiliar voice in a heavy Irish accent asked from the center of the room. Pansy's attention was drawn to the circular study table she had dragged near the fireplace earlier in the year, tired of the terrible lighting she received by her bed.

Cross-legged on top of the circular table, an unfamiliar woman sat on the spine of a tattered, leather book that glowed a slow blue. The woman had a parchment-feel about her, edges slightly crumbled and stained as if drawn from a weathered page of a well loved and much-aged novel. From within her hands, she twirled Pansy's wand about carelessly, blue sparks shooting out from both ends.

"It's a pity," the woman spoke, grinning from cerulean lips to show bluebell-colored teeth. "You shan't be needing this." Before Pansy could protest, inhuman fingers the shade of the sky took a firm hold of her wand and snapped it in two, Pansy mesmerized by the extra joint per finger.

As if still dreaming, she watched as the useless ends of the wand fell to the floor. Navy irises danced in merry glee and the strange woman let out a bark of laughter and not for the first time, Pansy felt dread slowly overcome her body.

-----

_A letter dating back to the 10th Century, sender and receiver unknown: _

I saw your brother's wife with his main knight last night.

In saying this, I mean I saw your brother's wife with his lead knight doing inappropriate things that gentlemen do not speak of in front of the presence of a lady. You know. What we did last night. But a little bit further. Should I tip them that the courtyard is a bad place to be doing such things?

-L

_The reply to the letter dating back to the 10th Century, sender and receiver unknown: _

Half-brother. _HALF_-brother. Only partial. As in that bloody Merlin is a bastard. Who needs to have his staff broken in two. Figuratively speaking; get your mind out of the road ruts.

It's a good thing you don't speak about such acts in front of a lady. A gentlewoman's elder brother might attack you. But this also raises another question. Pray tell, My Lord, what am I?

-M

_The reply to the reply of the letter from the 10 Century, participants unknown: _

Is this one of those times where you said I couldn't possibly dig myself any lower, so I might as well start apologizing and groveling to your perfectly manicured toes on those pale, smooth, small feet up to the luscious calves and milky, delicious thighs and that wonderful core of… knowledge upon your head?

_King Arthur to his half-sister's advisor, found in the ruins of Camelot, dating roughly 900 AC:_

Morganna said I could attribute the fragments of my magic mirror to you. Please refrain from angering my sister so. She has difficulty controlling her powers when in the middle of an anger-fit.

_A letter dating back to the 10th Century, sender and receiver unknown:_

I shouldn't have shown you that. How badly hurt is he? And how mad is Merlin?

_A reply to a letter dating back to the 10th Century, sender and receiver unknown:_

Unable to control my power in an anger fit my ass. I think I showed excellent control, seeing as he'll be able to walk again. Eventually. In the near future, at least.

Merlin needs to mind his own, if he knows what's good for him. Too bad they don't allow recollection in history texts. _Merlin: the wizard who never knew when to stop meddling. _

_A letter from Lucius Malfoy to his son:_

Lucius X. Malfoy, to:

Draco L. Malfoy

The Snake Pit

Hogwarts

Scotland

Tonight. We come tonight. Warn who you must and protect the rest. Burn this as soon as you have finished reading it. If I'm found, I die as well, and I haven't updated my will to leave you the inheritance.

_A letter from Severus Snape to Albus Dumbledore:_

Severus Snape, to:

Albus Dumbledore

Warn the students. Voldemort attacks Hogwarts tonight. He plans to make it the final battle between himself and Potter. Warn the trustworthy students and come up with a plan to detain the untrustworthy ones. I'm sure you'll come up with some sort of method.

_A letter from Albus Dumbledore to the Heads of each House_:

Albus Dumbledore, to:

The House Heads

The following is a list of students I expect sent to the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor corridor next to the Barnabus the Barmy tapestry by noontime. They will be detained through the Death Eaters attack and presented to ministry officials afterwards. Kindly do not mention my name, but explain to them that you wish for such individuals to report to the room to obtain a desired object. Send each at a specific interval (provided) and do not let them confer with each other.

Thank you kindly and Merlin bless,

Albus

_A note from Hermione Granger to Ronald Weasley, passed during Charms:_

Hermione, to:

Ron

If you get killed, I'm going to be extremely displeased. Even more so than that time when you forgot Valentine's Day.

_A note from Ronald Weasley to Harry Potter, passed during Transfigurations:_

Ron, to:

Harry

You better kick his arse, mate. My chances of surviving if you kick the bucket aren't very good. And Hermione will be mighty ticked if I die. She told me so.

_A reply from Harry Potter to Ronald Weasley, passed during Herbology:_

Harry, to:

Ron

Your concern for my well-being makes the entire process seem endearing. I'm glad to know you care so much for my life.

You're the best mate I could ever ask for.

Sigh.

_A letter from Harry Potter to Ginevra Weasley, left on the Gryffindor Commons message board:_

Harry, to:

Ginny

When we survive this battle, you are in charge of teaching your tactful brother the way of Sarcasmology. The being of sarcasm.

You can practically see irony float through one ear and out the other with him. It would be funny if I didn't have to go back through and explain the situation before Hermione deals with him. She tends to use him to mop the floor when she's anxious.

_A reply from Ginevra Weasley to Harry Potter, left on the Gryffindor Commons message board:_

Ginny, to:

Harry Potter

If you get killed, I'm going to be extremely displeased. Even more so than that time when you forgot my birthday. Except you didn't forget as much as you got me the worst present a boyfriend could get a girl friend, so I just store it in my memory as that one time you forgot my birthday. It's easier on my mind.

_Ginerva Weasley to Hermione Granger, passed when seeing the other in the hallway_: 

Ginny, to:

Hermione

I'm scared. And I'm more scared for his life than mine, Hermione. My world will not be if he loses. Not because Voldemort will have won, because I would continue to defy him with my very being until I no longer exist.

No. I'm afraid because a life without Harry isn't a life for me.

Hermione, I think I love him.

_Hermione Granger to Ginny Weasley, passed during dinner:_

Hermione, to:

Ginny

I'm scared too. At least we can be scared together. I fear for my life, my friend's lives, my parents, you, Harry, Ron. At least we still have these emotions. I don't think s You-Kno /s Voldemort knows what fear is anymore, and I think this is going to be his downfall. Keep everything that can be crossed crossed, Ginny.

-----

Insert end of the chapter here. I apologize EVER so much for the long wait for this chapter. School hates me, and so does my muse. I had all but the letters written by Tuesday, but then the week caught up with me. Eek.

I realize y'all are probably tired of hearing "Aid Katrina Victims!" but I insert my own wishes for you to help aid these people. New Orleans was already in pretty bad condition when the hurricane hit, but at least the sheer amount of deaths weren't around. Even a couple of dollars helps, so if you can spare it, pretty much everybody everywhere is doing a fundraiser, so please, help if you can. I feel lousy because I'm in the Tampa region of Florida and when it only hit the south as a tropical storm-ish rate, I was all, "YAY! Too bad for the people it hits next." Bam. Gains LOTS of power. Hits one of the worst cities it COULD hit.

Sigh. Next chapter comes out . This translates to "When I Think of How I'm Going To Get It To the End I Want It To End With." In the meantime, I re-leave my icon/community/fic update journal for y'all to check up on:

www. Livejournal. Com/users/idiotsinkinc

Omit the spaces. I'll occasionally place updates when I feel it's taking me too long to update.

And since this note is getting longer than the story (not really), I finish it here. Have fun, stay tuned, and send prayers (or best wishes, if praying isn't your thing) to New Orleans, Louisiana and all the people still there.


	7. Chapter 6: Confrontations

Rhyming is a pain in the…

Cough.Hello to all; Not owning HP

I have now taken my liberty

To state that this fic is free.

No money from it comes to me

Pesky lawyers leave me be

And I'm REALLY sorry

For the REALLY long wait-ee.

Rhyming is a pain in my ass. Onto the show!

Epiphany

Chapter 6

Confrontations

"Well damn," Pansy thought. She mirrored her thoughts and made it an exclamation as well. "This righteously sucks."

The fae on the table nodded her head in ascent. "That's what I'm thinking. It took just over a millennia for some poor schmuck to forget the legends and locate that book." It stretched its long legs and let them dangle from the table. "I've had this chance twice. And it was my luck the first idiot who picked up the book was male and several centuries ago. One of his friends was nice enough to clue him in on the history and bam! Dropped like a hot tamale. You're friends weren't that nice, though, deary. Or they were too dumb to realize what I was."

Pansy rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was have a conversation with a mythological monster once removed. "The majority of people now a days have difficulty applying what they know to real life. It's like, 'I was told wingardium leviosa to pick up heavy objects!' and when a house falls on them, the only thing remaining is ruby slippers."

"You'd be surprised how often that happens in history," the fae commented. "Happened to one of my cousins. Another forgot to waterproof her clothing and melted by a mop bucket."

"I have a feeling you're not here for idle chitchat, are you," Pansy wanted to know, sitting cross-legged on her bed and staring at the two halves of her wand on the floor.

"Yeah, but I thought a little catching up on the times would be necessary, you know, if I'm going to take over your body and all. Can't just meander into that hall and be all, 'hitherto' and 'art thou.'"

"Take over my body?" Pansy wanted to discern, taking in the factors extremely serenely for a girl who'd just had this fae invade her dreams enough to cause a severe nightmare.

"You mortals are all the same. You never have time to stop and smell the roses!" the fae ranted, crossing her arms over a flowing gown that looked to be made of water. Instead of wrinkling, it reformed around the position her arms were in.

"It's usually like that when you're mortal," was Pansy's reply. "Compared to you immortals, our lives are merely a speck of dust in the wind."

"But you wizarding folk have longer lives, right?" the fae commented.

"So we're a bigger speck than the muggles." Pansy turned to face the woman giving her a deadpan look. "An… angry speck. That aims for the eyes." She was rewarded with another unnerving bluebell grin. "And scratches the cornea until appeased. You're not making this very easy on me, are you?"

The fae laughed, a sound that reminded Pansy of a roaring waterfall. The girl shivered. "I'm part of the fae. We're not supposed to make life easier on anybody." She stood up and paced about the room. "The problem with being stored in a book for over a millennia is that the book has become my body. What you're seeing? It's only essence of who I really am, my magical powers unhindered by flesh and hair. See?" the fae stuck a four-jointed figure through the table. "Morganna had this all planned out. To leave this book, I'd have to find a willing mind to change. It was a part of her plan; I think she was angry with me for urging her lover into leaving the Hogwarts foundation. She also made sure that I'd have to find a new body, a mortal body, to take over if I ever did leave the book. And the problem with mortality is that you can die, even if you've got an immortal spirit housing the area."

"It's a pity we're mortal then. Me more so than anybody else. I spoil," Pansy muttered.

"Not too much of a problem for me," the fae replied, another grin upon her face. "I have a pretty good head start on this 'morality' problem for when I take over your body. I figure that Voldemort guy's got a pretty good grasp on immortality. He's already 'died' once, aren't I right?"

"You make it sound like I'm going to gift wrap who I am and pass it on. I'm going to sure as hell put up a fight before you can snatch my body and toss out my soul," Pansy spat, hugging herself.

The smile was more feral than mischievous this time. "I'm not going to toss out your soul, love. Just replace it in the book and live your life as you. And let me tell you." Sapphire eyes bore into Pansy's own. "It's much easier, and much more pain free, to give up than fight. I'm not a fair fighter and I've got a millennia of pent-up anger to work free."

(page break- Microsoft Word doesn't save them on FF dot Net)

If Draco was surprised to find himself in front of this particular Death Eater, he didn't let on. In fact, he was rather elated to come across this man in this particular battle; Draco would be able to state his claims and get his point across to Jasper the Draco Malfoy Way and claim that he was merely doing it for the better of the Light.

"What a surprise to come across you at this point in time," Draco drawled, his wand never straying from the eyes behind the mask. "You see, I've been telling myself that I'd come across you this evening, yet I wasn't sure if I'd be entirely graced with your presence."

Jasper flung a disarming spell in Draco's direction and the blonde blocked it with a shield spell. "You see," Draco continued, as if he had such instances in his every day life, "I've been meaning to talk to you about certain subjects… Actually, one Subject in particular, and I've been getting a bit antsy these past few months. I figured what better chance to get my point across, my way, then in the middle of a battle where a few 'accidents' might get the point across."

When Draco's shield did not budge, Jasper sighed, cast his own shield spell, and went to disable a Hufflepuff sixth year. "We are in the middle of battle, Boy. This is no time to talk logic. You fight in the wrong side. If I can't bring you down, I'll leave you for somebody else," Jasper commented. He was surprised to find his feet glued to the floor.

"No, you see," Draco commented, the battle around him forgotten as he toyed with Jasper. "This is the perfect time to talk logic, I think. Any other time, the Ministry might cart me off for my actions. But as far as the Ministry is concerned at this time, I'm on their side, you aren't, and they're not too particular at what might happen to you as I defend my school."

A shot of red sparks grazed Draco's cheek, a thin line of blood to follow. Draco rolled his eyes and reminded himself to watch the shield. It would do no good for Jasper to hex him in the middle of a Heart-To-Heart. "When the Dark Lord deals with you, you shall pay for making a fool out of me, Boy," Jasper spat, eyes bright behind the placid face of his mask. "I shall see to it. He rewards his followers well."

"And what about those followers who invoke the name of another to cover their arses?" Draco wanted to know, concentrating on a full body bind. The spell struck Jasper's shield spell, fought for a moment, and disappeared. "Such as your family members. Do you pride yourself in using your daughter's life to save your own? Your own flesh and blood?"

Jasper's replying laugh, a bitter and humorless one, further sent Draco into his fury. "You think too deeply, Boy. You are a Slytherin as much as I. You should know that I see no life before my own. Pansy was to be inducted to My Lord's side as soon as possible. I merely took the invitation offered to me at the time."

Draco's look of cold rage shook Jasper on the spot momentarily. "The only quality I see as fit for handing over your daughter's life on a silver platter is not one offered by any house, Jasper Parkinson. Gryffindor might be known for its bravery, and Slytherin might be its foil house, but that doesn't mean Slytherins stand for cowardice."

"Just because we're sneaky doesn't mean we don't have guts," another voice chimed in from behind Jasper. The elder man might have been able to reflect Draco's stunning spell, but he was not prepared for Blaise's attack from behind. Jasper Parkinson fell to the floor in a pile, where Draco performed a binding spell and drifted him off to a corner to be out of the way.

"It took you long enough," Draco growled, heading back to the fray.

Blaise shrugged, ignoring the shallow cut on his shoulder. "I stopped to have a friendly chat with your father. He declared himself done with the fighting and tiptoed back to his manor before the ministry appears to start arresting people. I doubt he'll be missed in this battle; the Dark Lord will never notice."

Draco nodded. "I hope not. The last thing I need at this moment is another daring escape from Azkaban."

(Page break, numero dos. Hate MW)

"Stop fighting."

"You didn't say 'please'."

"_Please_ stop fighting?"

"No."

"You're just making this more difficult on yourself."

Pansy sighed in fustration. "Did it ever occur to you in the millennia of planning that your subject might be unwilling?" she wanted to know.

Lachlan sent her a puzzled look. "I can be very convincing when I want to be," was the tough reply.

"Not one?" It was meant by silence. "Your outlook on the human race can't be a good one. Or a recent one, I suppose. The majority of teenagers nowadays agree that compliance is to be avoided. You're clearly not fit to take over my body, but keep studying the human race and you'll be prepared in another century or ten."

Lachlan smirked at her as a steady breeze began to pick up in the room. "The longer you wait to give up, the more angry I become. Seeing as I've had so long to be angry, several more minutes can be lethal. You'd hate to have a damaged soul combined to the book, wouldn't you?"

Pansy scoffed in reply. It was one of the few actions she could still perform, the small sprites successfully binding her to the bed. "You could no more damage my soul than you could fight off Morganna. Stealing my body will only last so long before you become another wondering soul. What will you do in another century when this form no longer exists anyway?"

Lachlan shrugged. "A century is long enough for me to find another solution. I consider this one temporary." She paused, arms at her sides and the hair around her face making it difficult for Pansy to foretell any emotion across the fae's face but a smirk. "Any last words before you cease your tale and begin to tell mine?"

Before Pansy could retort or make a feeble attack of her own, Lachlan pounced. Pansy screeched in pain as an immense pressure came over her mind. It was as if her brain was forced between two bookends on the Bookcase From Hell.

A bystander would have gazed on in confusion until a bright flash of blue forced eyes shut. One moment, Lachlan was standing there, hands against her hips with a smirk on her face and the book on the table long forgotten. Next, she was nowhere to be seen, the only sign of her presence being the slight blue glow that surrounded both Pansy and the tome on the table.

Pansy smirked smartly and sauntered out of the room with a wave to the book. "Don't worry," she called out over her shoulder, oddly icy-blue eyes twinkling through the darkness. "In a few centuries, some sap is sure to forget the stories and pick up that tome the way you did. You can teach her what I taught you and you'll have another body fresh for the picking."

(Page break 3)

It was like floating in an abyss. Things were dark, but she could still defer between shapes. Had there been shapes to defer from; abysses tend to be devoid from all objects.

Breathing, an activity that normally came quite simply to the human body, was also a difficulty. She felt as if each straining breath was like trying to swim in a tub of molasses, chests rising like arms from the mass to keep a body afloat.

More importantly, she felt old. Each word on every page was like it had been inscribed on her body. Time had taken a toll on the book, she knew. The weathered pages were now brittle and torn, the same way the memory of what made her… herself now felt. Every stain, every rip was reflected on the essence of Pansy Parkinson, now forced to the millennia-old book sitting on the desk in the middle of the seventh year Slytherin girl's dorm. And right about now, any hope for survival (and getting her body back) seemed as likely as passing the transfigurations NEWTs before having located the self-help book. With this thought in mind, the essence of Pansy slowly drifted down to a room that she guessed had been Morganna's seal for Lachlan in the book.

A cot rested on the ground of a stone room. There were no windows, no doors, no exits. Morganna would have made sure of that. A small, circular table with a single chair sat to the corner of the small room. And, surprisingly, on the opposite wall sat a dressing table, complete with parchment, quills, and a small pot of ink. Pansy noticed the desk had a single drawer, and although landed in Slytherin house, the Gryffindor curiosity got to the better of her and she slowly pulled it open and paused.

Pile upon pile of letters sat within, all bundled together with green satin lace. Pansy pulled out one pile, and carefully untied the lace, and then unfolding a letter.

She got as far as, "Dear Salazar," before placing them gently back together, tying them back up, and then curling up into a small ball on the cot. She had located Morganna LeFaye's last letters before disappearance on the Isle of Mist.

(Break 4)

Outside of the Slytherin dorms, through the common room, and up the dungeons to the light above, the battle between Hogwarts and the Death Eaters continued. Draco was doing his best to ignore the mysteriously quiet and still bodies lying about on the floor and continued to do his best to take out his opposing foes the best he could. He paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, frowning in distaste at his sticky and otherwise unclean state. The majority fighting in the room were older students, mainly from their sixth and seventh year. He recognized faces from Potter's "Dumbledore's Army" and smirked without a second thought. He hoped that maturity had settled upon his shoulders since fifth year, but the look of realization on Potter's face when the so called army had been caught was worth dealing with Umbridge. The cow.

With surprise, his attention was drawn to the other side of the room where the dungeons opened into the great hall. The dungeon entrance was slowly moving open and Draco could make out Pansy's dark form slipping into the shadows. He frowned to himself, tiptoeing his way through the fighting and the bodies towards her.

Draco wasn't the only one watching Pansy's entrance into the hall. Granger, observant as ever, sidled her way over to Draco as he made his way through the hall. "What do you want, Granger? I don't feel like dealing with the twelve uses of dragon's blood right now," he commented, dragging his sleeve back over his brow.

She stopped to give him a glare. "She's had that book since the start of school, right?" She paused but only long enough to have her point come across. "And then, this battle happens and one of the most powerful beings of this era comes within range." Another pause, this time added by Draco's impatient and pointed look. "Wouldn't this just be the most ideal moment for the prisoner in that book to take advantage of Pansy, being alone with everybody else around her too preoccupied to assist her?"

"Granger. I am tired, sweaty, and otherwise too irritated to deal with your 'What Ifs.' I'm throwing caution in the wind, like a good little Gryffindor, and making sure that she's alright whether you think it's a good idea or not," Draco replied, surprising Hermione with the steel in his eyes. "If she's not okay, I will be very upset indeed. But I'd rather find out now before something…" it was his turn to pause as he searched for an appropriate word, "Stupid happens that worsens the situation."

He walked off, leaving Hermione in his wake to gaze on. For being a bloody Slytherin, and for coming from a family of Slytherins, and otherwise loathing anything that its rival house stood for, Malfoy _was_ being uncharacteristically Gryffindorish. Hermione shrugged it off and continued forward out of curiosity.

It was a sigh of relief and a fresh breath of air to reach Pansy without any other skirmishes to reach his way. Draco thanked his lucky stars that everybody else in the hall was too busy with the fight to notice the pale-haired boy stop fighting to greet a girl, let alone one he had detested up until recently. "Pansy," he panted, stopping before her and clutching a hand to his chest. "Please tell me you're okay and that bloody book hasn't gotten to you yet."

Eerily blue eyes met his own and a chilly smile lit her features. "What would make you think that the book would get anybody at all? What if I welcomed that little prison with relish, Draco Malfoy?" He shuddered, taking a step back at her icy tone. "That little book can't 'get' me any more than it has, but I must admit that I've helped myself a bit on this one."

"So that's it?" he deadpanned, the fighting behind him forgotten. "You've got what you wanted and she's just screwed for eternity."

"Not for eternity. Just until the next hapless soul comes along, looking for self-improvement. I-" she halted, face lighting up in glee as she looked past Draco.

"My Lord," she curtsied, not looking down with the normal respect people would give to a lord or a lady. Draco could feel his heart drop to his stomach and his stomach drop to his feet. "I've got a lovely proposition for you, one that I don't think you could resist."

Draco slowly turned around to the red-eyed gaze of the one and only Lord Voldemort, who, for now, chose to ignore Draco's presence.

"And what might that be, Miss Parkinson?" the Dark Lord asked. Had he eyebrows, one would be lifted in mock interest.

An equally mock look of bewilderment crossed Pansy's- no. Not Pansy anymore. The look crossed the stolen body's facial features. "You must have me slightly confused with somebody else, my Lord," she replied, a slow grin lighting her lips. "Pansy is otherwise preoccupied at the moment. _I_ am Lachlan and I consider this a… 'test-drive' of my abilities."

If Draco's stomach could drop any further than his feet, it would have; he reckoned it was now nestled tightly amongst his belongings in the Slytherin dungeon, many feet below. In it's place, a gut-clenching dread grew as an unpleasant smile of recognition lit Lord Voldemort's lipless mouth.

The Dark Lord offered Pansy's body an arm and she took it gratefully. "What do I have to offer a member of the Fae Court?" he wanted to know, strolling off amongst the chaos like a walk in the park during the spring.

"Immortality. Knowledge. Power. Just the usual." The responding laugh brought chills down his back and Draco jumped when a hand clutched his arm.

"We have to help her out," Hermione Granger warned, her own brown eyes flashing. "I figure we have about an hour before those two go completely out of hand. As soon as Lachlan gets what she wants, she'll side with him and then I figure it will be only a matter of minutes before Hogwarts is reduced to rubble."

"Morganna was able to bind her to a book. How powerful can she be?" Draco wanted to know, doubt laced amongst his fear.

"Morganna was powerful enough to go down in history books. And she was pissed as hell. _And_ she had Salazar Slytherin's tutoring for several decades. _We_, on the other hand, have a handful of years dealing with oftentimes mediocre tutoring in several subjects that were regularly disrupted by him," Hermione jerked her head in Voldemort's direction, "Or his lackeys doing his damned best to finish off one of my best mates."

Draco flinched. "What about Dumbledore?" he wanted to know.

Hermione gave him a pointed look. "The one person capable to duel off You-Know-Who will be busy making sure his school doesn't fall to the Death Eaters. Quite literally, I suppose. The best bet we have is getting to the book and transferring the two back into designated areas."

A brief pause as Hermione waited for Draco to add onto that. "What?" he asked, confused at the silence.

She huffed. "_The common room_. Take me to where she'd be most likely to leave the book. We have to find that before we do anything else."

"Right-o. Follow me." Draco took off down into the dungeons, Hermione following close behind, and their footsteps echoed off into the dark.

(Break 5- the letters)

_A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin_

Letter 13, February 26th

It's endearing. I always assumed that "endearing" always referred to you when you knew something that I didn't. That I wanted to know, but you were trying to make me find out on my own.

That you pointedly led me astray on, just to laugh at me when I settled for the wrong conclusion.

No. Endearing is those quiet nights, in the middle of a snowstorm, not having left the premise for days on end due to a fear of dying out in the middle of the cold because _nobody knows that I'm gone and misplaced._ I'm lonely, and I'm tired of being lonely, and there's an odd place in me (the masochist of my personality, I suppose) that misses you being here, to lead me off the correct path and into one that you jokingly know is incorrect.

You really are a bastard.

_A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin_

Letter 25, June 30th

I hate you. I seriously, absolutely loathe you. Do you know why I hate you?

I can't stop thinking about you. Or remembering you. I stop to pick up a book and I think, "I bet Sal has read this one," or I look into the flames at my fireplace and think, "You'd probably poke them with a metal stick until coals decided to fly at your feet and you'd dance around the room, on fire."

No, I haven't forgotten that. But I wish I could

I loathe you.

_A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin_

Letter 32, August 3rd

Why'd you have to go piss off the other founders?

You know that if we didn't let the muggle-borns into the school, by the next millennia, wizarding families would have some mutated, six-fingered gene.

Six fingers are not cool. The muggles would have realized something was up.

Do you want spawn that has six fingers and an arm out of the forehead?

_A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin_

Letter 51, November 31st

I got you, didn't I? There is no November thirty-first.

This is what I've been reduced to. Writing nonsense, that doesn't make sense, just so I may tie it up in another blasted green ribbon and saving it in a private desk in a private place that no mortal will ever locate or read.

I can't break the habit. It's as if these letters are my last hope, the last thread that one day, you'll locate them and read them and then come back to me.

I'm losing it, Sal. I can't hold on for much longer. Please, don't make me grasp on to a crumbling ledge.

As clingy as it sounds, Come back to me. Please.

_A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin_

Letter 99, January 1st

How much longer am I to glance over my shoulder at the smallest noise, guessing you to be there with your wand raised, that evil grin upon your face, and whispering a leg-locking curse just to watch me hobble around the room after you, until I stop to catch my breath and you whisk me up, over your shoulder and ignoring my protests, and take me off somewhere more private?

_A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin_

Letter 167, September 22nd

This is getting pretty sad, isn't it?

Maybe I am too clingy.

Or maybe I feel that, if you find these somehow, you'll realize that I still love you and that I'll still welcome you.

Give it up, Morganna. Sigh.

_A letter from Morganna LeFaye to Salazar Slytherin_

Letter 213, February 26th

Two years, two hundred letters later. I'm tired of writing, of hoping, of crying.

Good-bye, Sal.

I really did love you.

(End chapter)

First of all, apologies. APOLOGIES. Many times over. Lots and lots of apologies. It's been like… sixteen months. Everything's been happening to me. A happy new years to all (this is my belated Christmas present) and as a New Years gift, I offer a drawing of Lachlan I doodled out a while ago http /img. Photobucket . com /albums /v212 /Achicagoil /drawinglachlan . png Just remove the spaces. It's not the best, and the image is a little dark, and the shadows are WAY screwy (they jump sides of her body bwahahaa), but I had fun nonetheless. I can't promise when another update will be, but… I'll try to have one out. If you want to, feel free to contact me through my LJ. It's www dot livejournal dot com slash users slash fangirlwithak slash. Reviews really, seriously DO inspire me to write (this isn't some cop out, yo), the same way clapping brings Tinkerbelle back to life.


	8. Chapter 7: Final Battle

I walk the line

To avoid the fine;

Ownership not mine.

So please don't whine

This fic's a sign

That I'll forever hate rhyming ever again. For all eternity. Seriously.

I'm making this the last chapter. Not exactly what I had in mind for the end (I had hoped to elaborate the struggles a bit more), but I felt bad for those of you who follow me. I _have_ followers, right? Ooh! Reminder, because -I- forgot—this is non-HBP complaint. Whorecrux? Is that like Draco Malfoy?

Epiphany

Chapter 7

Aftermath

Banks of snow marked the path the house elves had cleared through the now dead garden outside of Parkinson Manor, a reminder that Pansy had to keep half a mind to the frozen pathway to avoid slipping and breaking something on the cobblestone. It was an improvement from being inside, she figured. While in the confines of the library, the glowing fire and the thick blankets placed her in a false comfort and allowed her mind to wonder freely, something akin to upsetting a nest of Cornish pixies in a small area. At least outside, half her thoughts involved the basics of survival, the "I'm cold" and "These shoes have very little tread to stop the slip" pushing through thoughts of "You're an idiot" and "Permission to murder oneself, Madam?"

It had been over half a year since Voldemort's attack on Hogwarts. Afterwards, Pansy had chosen to lock herself in her manor to avoid the questions and accusations from her surviving classmates. Those who had fought for Voldemort and escaped looked down upon her for the lost battle, even going so far as to make mild, if not empty, death threats. None acted upon them, though, much to her relief; the destruction and confusion of the battle left them angry but wary. The victorious side was much the same, although a lot more curious and a lot less vengeful. Pansy disliked the questions and curious, sometimes frightful glances she got from her peers because she wasn't quite sure herself on what happened. That night seemed too surrealistic and jumbled to remember every detail.

Pansy slipped on a jutting stone, nearly tumbling into a cluster of dead rose bushes and slamming down onto her right knee. She winced and cursed herself for not paying attention, to straying to the thoughts she'd tried to avoid since That Night. Slowly getting back to her feet, she nearly fell once again when a voice called out, "Got to be more careful on the cobblestone there, Pans. Wouldn't want to kill yourself after you fought so hard to stay alive."

Instead of whirling around to glare at the speaker, Pansy straightened her back and slowly continued her walk, not facing the decidedly male figure behind her.

"You can't ignore me forever," Draco Malfoy called to her slowly sauntering figure. "I've been trying to call on you for the past four months." He followed after her, black-gloved hands in the pockets of his blue-black velvet robes.

"And I've ignored you on every chance, haven't I? Why haven't you gotten a clue and left me the hell alone?" she questioned, voice as frosty as her numbing nose.

"Mother told me to give you time. And after a couple of months, she wanted to know why the hell I was still home and not keeping you warm in this weather. It's mirrored, don't you think? We're in reversed roles, kinda ironic." He continued on, ignoring her stony silence. "It used to be that I ignored you and you pressed on. Now, you've become the Ice Queen and I'm the loser."

Pansy's eyes narrowed and she turned on him, almost losing her footing. "If you came here to insult me, you may leave it on a piece of parchment with the rest of them. My house elf kindly leaves a pile next to my bedside table every night, so I might remind to send each 'well-wisher' a fruit basket in the morning." She paused and her glare deepened. "Who let you onto the grounds anyway? I had strict wishes on visitation hours."

Draco let out a hallow laugh. "Is that what you call it? 'Strict?' It was harder to apparate into these grounds than into Hogwarts. Your mother invited me via Floo. Said it was a lovely day for tea in the gardens." Draco looked to the bleak sky and the dead shrubberies. "She might want to redefine 'lovely.'"

Pansy sighed and turned to him with a pointed look. "What do you want, Malfoy?" She was straight to the point and her demeanor told him that she was not in the mood to beat around the bush. "So that I may once again be left in peace."

Draco's eyes bored into her own, his steely gaze matching her uncertain one. "I want to see if what happened back then is the same as what happened with me. I want to clarify what you do and do not know. I want to know why you've been avoiding me, and I want _you_ to know why I will not leave you be until I get these answers."

He leaned down low enough to make eye contact with Pansy, a gaze she met equally. She was the first to break away. "I don't…" she trailed off, voice cracking. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I don't really know what happened when I was in that book," she admitted, watching gravity pull snow down from the dead limbs of a tree. "Time passed differently when I was in there, differently from how it normally acts."

Pansy absent-mindedly picked her way down the track, lost in thought. Draco knew enough not to interrupt her. "Granger's probably read books that were written from before the days of Hogwarts. What's amazing is that, when those words are written, they become immortal. Spoken words die, written words live. It was like that when I was in the book. There was no specific time period. It felt like I'd been in there for hours. It felt like I'd been in there for lifetimes. I had no body to store my reminiscences and I kept picking up other people's feelings and memories. I watched a boy Lachlan tried to seduce—three centuries ago—come to a realization of what the book meant. I watched you pick me up off the table. I watched Salazar Slytherin kiss Morganna LeFaye one last time. I was everything and I was nothing. I wasn't Pansy; I was another stray memory the book had captured."

She stopped and met his gaze straight on with misty eyes. "I watched you tell Lachlan off. I watched you almost get yourself killed. If you had died, I would have had an eternity of self-hatred to deal with. You would have died because I was too stupid to realize that book's true potential."

----

Six months previous: Battle of Hogwarts

"Malfoy. This really isn't good," Granger commented, eyes following the tattered wall hangings and ripped feather pillows. "She's still got her little water monsters to tear things apart."

"Yeah. Pansy was always pretty good with children. Always knew to leave a house elf in charge of them instead of trying to watch them herself."

"I was referring to Lachlan."

Draco rolled his eyes, wishing the Head Girl would pick up on the sarcasm he used in place of the growing anger. "Learn to take a joke. Actually, we decided to redecorate. This way, we can convince Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors we actually live in the squalor of our own treachery. Now, Ravenclaws on the other hand, they're too smart to fall for it. We generally have to pull out the wall manacles to convince them." He shot her a withering glare. "Of course this isn't good, Granger." He gingerly picked up the tattered book from its spot on a table. "And anyway. We don't have to admire the decorations anymore. We've got what we came for."

"Pansy's prison," Hermione commented, eyeing the book warily.

"And Lachlan's future home."

Draco practically dragged Hermione back to the Great Hall by her torn shirtsleeve, keeping his wand and the book in his other hand. He tried his best to ignore her protests. "Malfoy. We need to stop and plan what we're going to do," the shorter girl demanded, trying her best to dig her heels into the stone. "We can't just march in there with this book and demand Lachlan to return to her jail because 'It's where she belongs'."

Draco snorted very un-Malfoy like. "What a day this is. Voldemort storms the castle, Pansy gets possessed, I'm rushing into battle like a Gryffindor, and Red-And-Gold-Bloody-Golden-Trio-Granger is telling me to stop and plan a battle strategy." He paused, letting her catch her breath from the flights of stairs. "My battle strategy is to stall the Dark Lord long enough for Potter to come to his senses. While the Boy-Who-Better-Finish-Off-Voldemort takes care of one pain in the ass, I'm going to be working on the other. Do you have a better suggestion?"

He didn't wait long enough for an answer before continuing his journey.

----

Lachlan's amusement was close to an end. A millennia of years trapped in a timeless tome made for a short attention span. The petty battle at hand had nothing to do with her wishes, which, of course, should come first. Voldemort had lived seventy or so years. She had survived since the creation of time.

"This needs to be over now," Lachlan demanded, one hand on her hip and another gently caressing one of her sprites. "You mortals have so little time and I can practically feel my minutes slipping away. Finish your fighting so we may talk."

Voldemort strengthened his shield and cast a malevolent look at what had once been Pansy Parkinson. "You're in no position to be making demands, Lady. The last time I checked, you were still a mortal teenager and I was the worst Dark Lord to grace wizarding kind in centuries."

Lachlan rolled her eyes and let out a derisive laugh. "Don't even begin to understand me, Lord Voldemort. You are the worst Dark Lord to grace wizarding kind. Yet I'm the one who pushed your forefather into leaving this school. You have roughly seventy years. I have over seven thousand. You have your Death Eaters. I have my sprites. You are a Dark Lord. I am a Fae Queen." With an unspoken demand, puddles of water formed at her feet and her water sprites rose from the depths.

"Good evening, my children" the was-Pansy cooed, stroking stray cheeks of fae that began to swarm around her. "I want this battle over. See to it."

"I think not," another voice added into the conversation. Lachlan's gaze met Draco Malfoy's and she let out a feral grin. The grin increased when she noticed the book he held in one hand, the timid girl he gripped with the other. "I think you're going to call them off," he indicated her sprites, "And are going to return your soul to this tome and let Pansy have her body back."

Lachlan laughed, sending chills down his back. Hermione tugged nervously at his grip on her sleeve and he unconsciously let her free. "I've seen you, boy. I've seen how you treated the girl as if she had no potential. I've molded her around you and what you expect out of a mate. Every point she changed, every molding I made that increased my power, was done for you. You are the reason your Pansy is in this book and I am here. Perhaps I should be thanking you?" Draco did not miss the sultry smile on Lachlan's face. It was one he'd seen Pansy make before he'd… well, before he'd been able to stand Pansy's presence.

"Don't you dare begin to place the blame on me," Draco retorted coldly, fingers tightening around his wand at his side. "You didn't change Pansy from what she already had. You just began to show her the true potential she had to offer and truthfully, I was never attracted to what you offered me, even through Parkinson. What attracted me was the brave, witty, smart girl that existed under an exterior of flakiness brought upon her by lousy parents with a lousy mentor guiding them." Draco shot a quick glance at Voldemort to make his point, not surprised to find Potter and the Dark Lord unsuccessfully passing curses at each other. "I could never be attracted to somebody so fake, so unbelievably manipulative, and somebody who color coded her body to match her teeth."

Lachlan curled her lip up in anger at him. Draco wasn't astonished to notice the blueberry-tint her teeth had taken on. "If you won't join me, then you are against me," she snarled, slowly raising her arms with palms up. The blue glow around her body increased. "It's so sad I'll have to kill you instead. You would be such a useful, pretty boy to have around."

The blasts of raw, blue energy Lachlan shot at him passed right through his protective shield and Draco had to dodge last minute to avoid the blast. Lachlan laughed once and sent another bolt at the dazed boy currently sprawled at her feet. Draco watched in slow motion as the blast came closer and closer, his face reflecting the blue glow. Yet he didn't let go of the book that now contained Pansy's soul. He stroked its spine slowly, closed his eyes, and waited for the blow to hit him.

----

Pansy had lied when she told Draco she had no longer been Pansy when trapped in the book. For the most part, the memories had been so jumbled up to such a confused was-girl; she had given up trying to separate the different issues. Without a brain to direct the flow of thought, it was pointless trying to figure out what had been hers and what hadn't been.

The was-girl that now inhabited book watched the memories fling past, no recollection of past, present, or future. She watched a young Morganna gaze into a baby cradle with disgust at a brother that wasn't really her brother. Anger. She watched the Hogwarts boy stroke the faded-gold lettering on the leather cover of the book. Adoration. She watched long, endless moments of confinement to a bitter water fae weakening powers and rebuilding hate. Loathing.

She watched a confession of love for a new-founded potential, not the false, newly modeled personality that was supposed to have been created. She watched as a brilliant, deadly blue glow slowly came closer to Draco Malfoy with the intent to destroy because he had appreciated a soul for what had been there, just hidden. She watched his familiar eyes slowly close, a small smile slowly come over his features, and she –felt- the tentative stroke over her spine.

Love.

The was-girl stopped and Pansy stepped away from the jumble of memories to individuality. She closed eyes that were no longer there and let the tears slowly stream down her cheeks. 'Please,' her almost-voice echoed through the small room with a cot and a writing desk. 'Don't let it end this way.'

The tears slowly splashed down her face, increasing in intensity and desperation. 'Don't let him die because of me. He loves me for who I am. And I have always loved him.'

'Then don't let it.' Time that wasn't there froze. The memories stopped drowning her. Pansy opened her eyes and gaped in astonishment. Ageless eyes gazed down to her from a halo of auburn curls and an outstretched hand. 'Fight to make your own destiny.'

Pansy gathered up all her courage and reached up to take the hand.

----

Draco was wondering when that blow of blue would explode in his face. He knew that one's life would pass in front of his eyes before death, but his life had finished passing some time ago and yet he was still alive. He cracked an eye open to see where the progression of the light stood. It didn't.

Actually, the light seemed to have struck him at one point. Instead of creating a lethal blow that should have exploded his head open, though, it seemed to have been drawn into the book he clutched to his chest like a lifeline. Forgetting the book housed Pansy's soul, Draco chucked it like a hot potato. And with a very unmanly squeal. _The book wouldn't drop._ It remained hovering in the air at the point where gravity would have brought it back down again. The glow intensified and Lachlan took a step back.

"You do not," she snarled, raising another hand of glowing, blue energy, actually addressing the book. "I've worked too damn hard to get out of that book for it to put up much of a fight."

A gust of wind slammed into Lachlan, forcing her to drop her hands and take a bracing step back. The until-then forgotten water sprites hit with the gust were forced back into their puddle-states, liquefying with contact. The sprites not hit with the blast of air were not stupid; they did, however, manage to disappear from the vicinity quite quickly.

"I will not give up without a FIGHT," Lachlan shot, throwing herself at the book with clawed hands. "If you will not rest in that damn book, I'll just have to kill this body and find a new one to inhabit." Draco had to shield his eyes when the two came into contact, the resounding glow blinding everything in the vicinity.

An eerie wail filled the room, followed shortly by an anguished scream. Pansy's body was thrown back and the book flew into Voldemort's protective shield. Much like Lachlan's power blasts had done to Draco's shield, Voldemort's faltered and fell; the Dark Lord was slammed in the chest with the novella. If Harry had never picked up a cue before, he couldn't have missed this one. He shouted a curse at Voldemort's confused form and whatever he bellowed at the Dark Lord intensified with the still glowing book. The resulting explosion shook the room and for the first time since the beginning of the battle, silence flowed over the Great Hall. Except for a charred spot on the ground, neither Dark Lord nor book existed.

The book. _Pansy_. Draco's anguished cry caught the fighters' attention. "NO!" he screamed, roughly flinging himself forward to the blackened circle on the ground, looking for some remains, some scattered ashes as to what had become of Pansy. "Pansy, no," he whispered, oblivious to the uncharacteristic tears squeezing from his eyes. "It's not going to END this way!" He scratched at the floor, ripping apart his fingers.

"No, it isn't," a tired, familiar voice called from over his shoulder.

Draco slowly turned from his crouched spot on the floor, gazing up into a recognizable pair of eyes. He knew just from the crooked, slightly sarcastic smile on her face that she was back. "And I figured that out myself. I couldn't let you die because of me," Pansy Parkinson informed him, wiping at a line of tears.

Her lips twitched for a second, gazing at the liquid on her fingertips. "For Merlin's sake. Grow a pair and stop crying, you silly bint."

He silenced her with crushing hug and even more compressed kiss.

----

Present Time, the winter after the battle

Realization washed over Draco as he gazed at Pansy's back. "You blame yourself," he deadpanned, watching her flinch. "You blame yourself for wanting to change and conform so much that you ignored all your teachings. That because of the changes, you invited an unwilling monster into your body. That the monster almost killed me. You think it was a petty crush that almost got me killed."

Pansy's head scrunched into her body as she hugged herself. "Not a petty crush, but the rest you've got on the dot," she muttered, looking at the ground. She missed it as Draco approached her and was surprised when he pushed up her chin to make eye contact with her.

"Not a petty crush then. And not 'on the dot.'" He paused, letting that sink in. "Yes, you wanted to change and conform. You did ignore your teachings. A monster did make its way into your body. And yes, the monster did almost kill me. None of that is related and you're a fool for thinking it is." He grinned as she bristled at being called a fool.

"I don't know if you heard it or not, but I made it clear to Lachlan she didn't 'mold' you into anything. What you are now, the smart, intelligent, funny young woman was always underneath that superficial exterior. And I hated that exterior. It was the façade of pure blood teachings getting shoved into your brain. It was a lousy mother compared with an even lousier father to dim and try to diminish the personality beneath. All Lachlan did was make you question what you'd been taught, not produce something that wasn't already there. Or don't you think you would've reverted back to the way you were?"

Pansy was silent for a period of time. Draco wasn't going to take that as an answer. "Don't you? Think that you'd be back to the way you were?" He shook her shoulder for emphasis.

She glared at him. "I dunno. I've found myself wearing a bit of pink again. Does that count?"

He laughed, pulling her into another crushing hug. "If it makes you feel better to think that way, then fine. You're a superficial brat because your bra has pink lace. Better?"

She smiled up at him tentatively. "Don't forget the matching panties."

He suppressed a groan at the mental image of solely-underwear-clad Pansy and buried his face in her neck. He had to stoop quite a way. "I'd never forget the matching panties. But just in case, perhaps you'd better show them to me so I can impress them upon my mind."

Pansy pulled away to punch him in the arm. "Not quite that quickly, asshole. Not until at least the second date. And I doubt that'll be all you're 'impressing.'"

Draco Malfoy's laughter reverberated around the Parkinson Manor grounds.

From an upstairs window, Kamalia Parkinson smiled to herself. She moved away from the window, the only sign of her presence the still-billowing curtains. Perhaps she might look over wedding invitations with the Weasleys sometime?

_Wedding invitation delivered to both Malfoy and Parkinson manors_:

You've been invited to the wedding of a century!

Join the Weasley, Granger, and Potter families as Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley, and Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jane Granger are joined in a joint ceremony of holy matrimony. Further information provided at RSVP request.

For RSVP: Contact Molly Weasley at floo network: The Burrow

_Owl from Pansy Parkinson to Draco Malfoy_

You going?

And if so, with or without the means to ruin their wedding?

-Pans

_Owl from Draco Malfoy to Pansy Parkinson_

Yeah. But it might be safer not to do anything stupid. Between Granger and Weaslette, I'd rather eat a blast-ended skrewt before ruining their days. In fact, I'd probably get turned into one. Pourquoi, ma petite?

-Drakes(?)

_Letter from Pansy Parkinson to Draco Malfoy, shot at him through the floo network_

One more remark about how short I am, this letter will be aimed lower and at a faster speed. I'll cut something important off, for sure. You take the fun out of Gryffindor/Slytherin events. Chicken

-P

_Note from Draco Malfoy to Pansy Parkinson in the middle of a nap, tickled under her nose by Draco Malfoy until awoken_

I don't take the fun out of them. I'm merely hesitant to act before that second date I've been promised

-D

_Message from Pansy Parkinson to Draco Malfoy, traced on his chest with a fingernail_

Still worried about dying before seeing my knickers?

_Whispered into Pansy Parkinson's ear _

_I'm more concerned with seeing_ the entire set, now

_On a distant isle, a curled-up body sleeps in the cool, ever-summer shade of an ancient oak tree. She hasn't had real human contact in years, yet she's watched humanity and wizarding kind progress through the reflections in still pools of water. She is ancient, yet young, wise, yet naïve, and plainly impatient. She has waited minutes, hours, days, years, centuries, yet every day is the same as the one before._

_She still believes in love, no matter how it has evaded her through the years. The love lives deep in her heart, aching as she takes every breath. Her only reprieve is in her dreams. In her dreams, they are together again, for all eternity. He is there to tug on her hair and remind her of her shortcomings. She is there to react with a fierce temper and shouting. They're both there for each other with warm embraces and tentative stroking and less tentative stroking as well. Her dreams are what keep her hoping and praying, She said her good-bye centuries before, but she never really meant it._

_She said she loved him, in the past tense. But she still does. And every time she wakes up from her dreams, he disappears, breaking her heart all over again._

_This dream is no different. The slight breeze that ruffles her hair across her cheek translates into a dream-lover's trailing caress. She's pulled from sleep by it, whimpering as the distance between them grows. Curiously, though, the trailing caress down her cheek continues, dipping down her neck._

_Sapphire-blue eyes lift up in hope, not wanting to disrupt the dream and frighten it away. A pale hand cups her chin and forces her gaze up into ancient eyes, eyes that have haunted her dreams since before time. They're so full of love it hurts. The breeze dies down and she lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding._

_"Laez."_

I finished this for myself because I owed it to my writing. I was reading through some of my old stuff when I came across it and immediately became disappointed in myself. My writing was too good (for me) to not complete it. And there you go. There are fewer letters, but the actual story is longer, so it evens out. I'm mostly happy with the final ending; I was happy to end Morganna's suffering. Perhaps some day I'll go through and re-edit it all and post it on livejournal. I'm extremely happy with how it came out. Thank you for waiting so long (even though I bet most of y'all gave up hope ) and now it's sleepy time. Peace be with all,

-Achi


End file.
